


The Missing Book - The Early Years

by Hey_You



Series: Missing Book [1]
Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 105,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hey_You/pseuds/Hey_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta grow back together after Peeta's return to District 12. After Katniss realizes her true feelings for Peeta, she is faced with the very real possibility that he no longer cares for her in the way she had hoped. Post "Mockingjay" but pre-Epilogue. Canon compliant. *I always felt that there should have been a fourth book in the series, and kind of felt as if the ending of "Mockingjay" was rushed. ;-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on how I would have "preferred" the series to end.
> 
> The Hunger Games, all characters and settings, are the property of Suzanne Collins.

It's been three days since Peeta came back home. Surprised at his presence the first day, I had fled to the woods. Calmed by his presence the next day, we had eaten breakfast together, each wrapped in our own thoughts.  
  
But yesterday, we found conversation as we talked about the weather, which eventually led to a discussion about the state of District 12. There had been tears all around as we discussed what was left of our tiny village.  
  
Peeta was the one person that I knew that I no longer had to hide any emotions from. He wasn't going to judge me for my weaknesses and I was glad he was here. He went home to paint, and I left for the woods.  
  
I spent the afternoon sitting against a tree lost in thoughts about Peeta. Why was he back? Was there a real chance that my Boy with Bread had come back to me? I wasn't sure if I should dare to dream. I was amazed at how calm he was, how absolutely Peeta-like. His voice was gentle and his eyes concerned. The only thing missing was the spark of love which had been present so long.  
  
In my heart, I knew that I had taken Peeta's love for granted, assuming it would always be there for whenever I made a decision about my future. The cold hard facts were difficult to ignore. I believe he still had feelings for me, but love? Well, probably not and he might never feel it again. All things considered, our positions were exactly reversed from what they were a year ago. Now, I'm the one who is certain after everything that I love Peeta and he's undecided. There's kind of an ironic justice to it all.  
  
The bottom line, though, is the fact that I still struggle with the depression caused by Prim's death. All of the unanswered questions, the what if's and the maybes, wrestle to dominate my conscious mind. I battle an internal struggle between the part of my brain that wants to move forward, and the part of my brain which berates my traitorous thoughts of love.  
  
I sighed heavily as I dragged myself from my thoughts. If I was not careful, I could easily become lost in them and darkness could fall and I wasn't prepared for a night in the woods alone yet.  
  
When I returned home, he and Sae were busy making supper. Conversation between the three of us was somewhat strained as we grasped for something that would not result in an emotional earthquake. Sae ended up telling stories about the people in the kitchen at District 13, which had us laughing at times. It had been so long since I had felt like laughing that I felt a familiar sense of guilt creep over me.  
  
We cleaned up the kitchen together, and Sae left to return home to her granddaughter. Peeta stayed on and he asked about hunting and I asked about his painting. We were trying, but there was so much left unsaid. Still, I was grateful for his presence back in my life.  
  
So, here I was this morning, standing in front of the mirror spending time fussing over my hair as if I was about to go on a date. My mind argued that it was only Peeta waiting downstairs, but still I could not seem to help myself. I had spent far too much time already worrying about what to wear and finally chose a light blue button down shirt with a flower print, and a pair of new blue jeans.  
  
My heart is beating a little faster as I head downstairs and hear his voice. He's talking to Buttercup who apparently has found a potential ally in Peeta.  
  
"Are you a good kitty?" Peeta croons softly, and I can already hear Buttercup purring raggedly. I smile slowly as I stop just outside the kitchen door. "Would you like some milk? I bet you would. What a good kitty. Yes sir! A very good kitty."  
  
"Don't mind me," I say as I enter the kitchen. "You can go right on with whatever you are doing." I'm trying to hide the smile on my face. It's the first time I've even tried to tease in months, and it seems so normal. But what happens next absolutely amazes me in its normality.  
  
"Oh it's okay, we won't mind you, will we kitty?" Peeta is teasing me back, his blue eyes sparkle at me and a smile plays at the corner. I take a moment to smile back, and notice that Buttercup is firmly entrenched on his lap staring at him with wise green eyes.  
  
For the first time since returning home, I reach for the coffee pot and begin filling it. The pot is from our old house and I love it because it was once my father's coffee pot. In that moment, I realize that I am luckier than most District 12 residents as I still have tangible objects to cling to.  
  
"I made muffins this morning just to change things up a bit."  
  
I glance to the covered plate at the side, and wonder how it is that Peeta is able to still bake when so much of his memory had been destroyed. He had proven yesterday that he remembered more than I had originally thought possible as we recalled stores in and around our village which had been destroyed. Maybe he was able to salvage some of the recipes, I muse.  
  
Peeta has always showed an uncanny ability to read my mind except for my feelings about him, so I'm not surprised when he says, "It's strange, I will be standing in my kitchen pulling ingredients out of the cupboard and my hands just seem to start working on their own. Pretty soon I've recreated something that I nearly forgot existed. Dr. Aurelius said most of my memories are just buried and that mundane tasks will jog them to the forefront."  
  
"Do you remember everything after you were rescued?" I ask, surprising myself.  
  
His eyes grow troubled. "Yes, pretty much. I mean some things are a little foggy." He's still holding Buttercup close, but he's quit stroking his fur.  
  
I wonder what he's thinking of at that point as I watch his eyes. So far, I have not see any sign that he is having a flashback of any kind. Since the day of the kiss back in the Capitol, he hasn't exhibited any violent behavior toward me and I don't feel any fear being alone with him, but still I worry that he might have an episode that would force me to confront my own role in his torture.  
  
"I'm sorry," he blurts. "Katniss, you have no idea how sorry I am." There are now tears threatening in his eyes. He gently sets Buttercup on the floor.  
  
"Oh Peeta," I shake my head quickly. "Peeta, you have nothing to apologize for. I know what they did to you."  
  
"You have no idea, Katniss," he wipes his eyes. "I couldn't help myself. I tried to kill you twice, and I had horrible guilt. I wanted to die."  His shoulders shake, and I can't help myself as I rush to hold him. Our first hug in months, he grasps me firmly and I feel the strong arms of old, no hesitation. His face is buried in my shoulder.  
  
I'm still holding him when Sae walks in. She's seen everything in her life, and then some. She glances in our direction but says nothing at the sight of the the broken young man weeping on my shoulder. In my head I hear my father's words, "Sometimes you just have to cry Katniss. It's how our soul heals itself." So I let him cry. Eventually, I stroke his head and he calms himself.  
  
"Peeta, please don't blame yourself. I don't blame you." I feel a nod against my shoulder, and a weight I never realized that I carried, lifted.  
  
He lowers himself into a chair and I move to sit in mine. So much has changed but it's comforting to have him here. I realize for the first time how much I have missed holding him and having him hold me back. I consider the young man before me, his eyes reddened. Somehow or another, he's managed to return to his sweet, compassionate self. My heart aches as I realize that he's struggling to get back to the Peeta of old.  
  
I notice again the remnants of burns. His scars are much less marked than mine even though last fall they were every bit as apparent. For the first time I realize that I'm unaware of how Peeta came to be burned. I fidget in my chair, knowing that his answer would take me back to that fateful day but still my curiosity surges until finally, "How were you burned?"  
  
The head jerks are simultaneous — Peeta's head in front of mine and Sae's over by the stove in my peripheral. Peeta turns toward Sae, who is now looking directly at him. She nods slightly. "Go ahead, boy. She deserves to know."  
  
My heart inexplicably races at her words. "Deserves to know?"  
  
Peeta clears his throat, but hesitates. Finally, "Ummm. Well, remember when we left Tigris' house? I was going to create a diversion?" I nod, and he continues. "I was keeping you and Gale in my sight, but I was trailing about twenty-five yards behind. Not too close, you know in case I was recognized sooner. When you two stopped, I stopped. I guess I just wanted to make sure you were safe."  
  
It's a fact of our lives these past few years, always protecting each other whenever we were able.  
  
"Well, when the street collapsed, I was just about to put foot on it. I saw you start to run toward the edge, and Gale heading off to the side. It was crumbling so fast, and then I saw you dive and grasp the edge. My heart was racing. I began running to the left around the next block. There were no pods or if there were, they weren't active. By the time I had rounded the corner sprinting toward you, you had managed to pull yourself up to the street and you were looking back toward where I knew Gale was perched. Everything about the Capitol reminded me of an arena. Tick tock."  
  
I nodded as his words took me back to that awful day. The fear, the desperation, and like a train, his words chugged toward Prim, and I knew it.  
  
"You started back toward City Center and I closed the gap to ten yards or so. You weren't looking back anymore, so I edged up until you stopped. My focus was on you the whole time, and then I saw the barricades and Peacekeepers, and the children. At first, I didn't understand what was going on. Then I saw the parachutes."  
  
He stops, and I know that he's uncertain whether to continue. I think my face is impassive but then I feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. "Katniss, maybe it's better not to talk anymore about this. It's been … emotional … already today."  
  
I shake my head "no" and tell him to continue.  
  
He inhales shakily, but his blue eyes never waiver from mine. "There were … ummm … all those kids," his tears are flowing freely now and he doesn't try to wipe them away. "They were reaching up and you could see the hope." I'm transported back to that day, hearing Peeta's words but no longer seeing him as he speaks.  
  
"Those damned games made those kids think they were receiving a reward. Then the bombs went off, and I stood in shock. I couldn't move forward. I couldn't make myself, and I felt so useless. The kids were screaming and there was pandemonium and then I saw the medics from 13 arrive. I was surprised how quickly they arrived on the scene."  
  
I nod, again the rising suspicion overtakes me. The medics arrived as if they were expected.  
  
"Then I heard you call her name." He doesn't say it, but there's only one name that I called. "And I scanned and saw her, just before the second blast." His shoulders are shaking now and there are sobs coming from all three of us. "Oh God, Katniss, the fire shot out and engulfed you and those stupid furs and it was like it was alive, and I rushed forward and pushed you down and worked to smother them. It was hard to get them out." His words hit me like a ton of bricks as I realize that he was burned saving me.  
  
"After I got the flames extinguished, I wasn't sure whether you were even alive but I knew I had to go for Prim." There. He said it. Her name. I'm listening intently in spite of my uncontrolled sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Katniss. I tried. I tried to help her. I carried her out and laid her beside you, but she was so badly burned. I'm just so sorry."  
  
So here it was. Peeta, the boy who was tortured because of his love for me, who was fighting demons that no one could imagine, had overcome everything to try to rescue Prim. Always. Peeta was always the decent, gentle boy that I had known.  
  
"Please don't hold it against me, Katniss," he croaked from behind his hands.  
  
"What?" I gasped between sobs.  
  
"Please don't hold it against me that I didn't save her. I tried, I really did but …" His body is convulsing with sobs and he can't finish.  
  
"Oh Peeta," and for the second time today, I'm holding him tightly. "It's not your fault. It's not." We stand there together, each lost in our own grief for several minutes.  
  
"When I reached her, Katniss, she was slipping away but she recognized me and told me that she loved you. I gathered her up in my arms and she rested her head on my shoulder, and was gone by the time I got back to you." Without realizing it, his words comfort me. I had worried that she had died alone, and here Peeta had been there for her, lifting her up with all of his gentleness, and allowing her to die with her head pillowed on his shoulder. The fact that she spoke her love for me in her dying breath also lent some comfort to me.  
  
Tears flow hot against my cheek, and my sobbing has increased, but I hold tightly to Peeta. Nearly an hour later, the three of us sit at the table emotionally drained. Finally, I turn to Sae who was in 13 at that time, "How did you know?"  
  
"Oh," said Sae, "It was on the news that night, broadcast to all the districts. They said the 'male half' of the star-crossed lovers of District 12 had protected his Mockingjay and her little sister. They showed video of Peeta with melted skin hanging from him standing over the two of you and directing the medics in to help you. He refused help until Prim was attended to as well. Eyewitnesses told the rest of the story of seeing him rush forward and douse the flames on you, and then move directly in to help Prim. All of us back in 13 who knew his story, were pretty overwhelmed by him. Later, they said he turned down the medal offered for valor and heroic efforts."  
  
I look questioningly at Peeta, who shrugs. "It wasn't heroism that motivated me that day." There's no question what his motivation was, and my heart clenches.  
  
Shortly after, Peeta returns to his painting, and I head back to my woods to sort through everything. My heart is undeniably heavy. Two boys who had vied for my heart were such polar opposites of each other. Gale burned with rebellion. He believed strongly in the adage, "an eye for an eye." Peeta was a mediator, gentle and compassionate, potentially sacrificing his own life for love.  
  
One may have killed her, and in fact, I'm more convinced than ever that even though the decision was not his, the apparatus of her death was his brainchild. The other looked inside himself that day and fought off the tortured demons that haunted him, and rushed in to save not only me but Prim at a great cost to his personal well being.  
  
In my heart, I know Gale would never knowingly have killed Prim, but the fact of the matter was that he wanted to not only kill but to inflict as much psychological pain as possible. I'm glad that he found employment in another district and part of me hopes never to see him again. I don't want to confront the possibility that he would ask for forgiveness.  
  
Those thoughts lead in the direction of Peeta, who had feared that I would not be able to forgive him because he was unable to save Prim. He might have gone a lifetime without telling me about that day to spare me the pain, but I'm glad to know. Even though heroism was not his driving force, he certainly was a hero in my opinion. I need to find a way to thank him for what he did for Prim that day.  
  
Sae's words echo in my head about Peeta's melted flesh, and I know the pain he was in. The fact that he pushed for them to care for Prim before himself, again speaks volumes of how deeply rooted his character is. Not even the devious minds of the Capitol could alter Peeta sufficiently to abandon me or Prim.  
  
As I've been thinking, I have been digging a small hole with my fingers. Prim's body lies in a Capitol graveyard, and I need to move it home. Because of how my father died, there is no grave, and somehow I know that I need one. In fact, we need someway to memorialize all those who have fallen.  
  
Today is not the day to mention it to Peeta, though. I glance toward the sky and realize that Dr. Aurelius will likely call soon, so I head home. The phone is ringing as I enter the house and I rush to answer it, the first time since returning.  
  
His voice registers a note of surprise when I pickup. I've never spoken to him about anything, and suddenly I find myself rushing through everything. He's not surprised that Peeta is here and that we are talking. He doesn't ask me if I'm afraid.  
  
I tell him about Peeta rescuing me and realize that he already knows. He adds some details about Peeta's injuries and how severe they were. He talks about how he had quenched the blaze with his own body and had spent even longer in the burn unit than me. I find myself wishing I had sought out Peeta last fall.  
  
Finally, I tell him about the need to memorialize everyone. As I talk, I feel something foreign, borderline excitement. The knowledge that I'm starting to manage my own grief. The idea begins to take shape in the form of a book, and my thoughts rush to my family book and Peeta's help with it. I find myself asking him if he thinks Peeta could handle the project, and he tells me that Peeta is one of the strongest, most driven young men he knows and that he's sure of it.  
  
Before I realize it, three hours have passed and I bid him a hasty goodbye before Sae and Peeta arrive. I quickly rush to the bathroom to douse my face in cool water, hoping to alleviate the evidence of the tears I've shed most of the day. My soul is lighter though, and I realize the truth behind my father's words. I've begun to heal.  
  
I hear the screen door downstairs, and hurry down, hoping that it is Peeta. He's busy at the counter already working by the time I get there.  
  
"Peeta?" My voice is hoarse and raspy sounding from all the talking and crying today.  
  
He looks up, his eyes full of concern.  
  
"I just wanted to thank you. For Prim. For everything." The words don't come easily to me, and he knows it. There's relief in his expression, and he nods his acceptance, and returns to work on the project in front of him.  
  
I go to the refrigerator and begin pulling the fresh vegetables out. Since the rebellion, food has been flowing between all districts, and we now have plenty to purchase. We buy directly off the train when it arrives, and we in Victor's Village are much better than elsewhere because we have electricity, and ample storage.  
  
I clean and cut them, humming as I work. Peeta is quiet and we work in companionable silence. There's much on my mind. We will need to talk but today has already been too full of emotions.  
  
"I'm going to rebuild the bakery," Peeta says in an offhand but resolute manner.  
  
His declaration makes me smile, as I realize that he's putting down firm roots again. "That's good. We need a bakery."  
  
"Yes, I was down there today and talking with Thom. They are sending equipment from 2 to help remove some of the rubble, and then we are going to start rebuilding. We are planning now for what is needed, and what we need for the future. I think you should be in on the planning."  
  
I don't answer immediately because truth be told, I was never in most of the shops, just the bakery and the butcher, and the Hob, of course. The Hob. Would we ever need a place like that again?  
  
Without realizing, I've spoken out loud, and Peeta looks up considering it. "I was never really part of the Hob. But I think we could use a place where people could trade until we have enough cash in circulation. I could bring bread and other goods, flour and such. It would be a good way for me to use some of the winnings."  
  
Peeta, Haymitch and I were the only ones with a lot of money. Too much, and his idea is good.  
  
"Maybe that should be the first building rebuilt. It would do the most immediate good. He hurries to finish the rolls he's been working on and puts them in the oven. Then he reaches for the ever-present sketch book. "Do you have a straight edge?" I reach into the drawer and hand him a beat up one I used in school.  
  
"How many booths were there?"  
  
I have to think now, and it's a little painful. I count in my head and see their faces. "Twelve."  
  
He nods. "Maybe their should be more? Like 16 or 20?" Because we could add baked goods, your game, and construction supplies. I'm going to put in an order to the Capitol for nails and such. Thom suggested a saw mill and we could cut our own boards from surrounding hills. …"  
  
Boards from my forest. Trees would be felled. At first, my stomach clenches, but then I realize that my woods could help rebuild our district and it feels right. I glance toward Peeta and notice his tongue resting at the edge of his lips. He's engrossed in his project.  
  
Sae arrives minutes later, and Peeta is anxious to get her opinion. Typical of Peeta, he approaches the subject with finesse. "Sae, we've been thinking about our district, what we need to preserve from the past, and so forth." Sae listens attentively. "I never really got to know much about the Hob, but it was such an important part of the district before it was burned, and I'm wondering if it shouldn't be again. We desperately need a place to trade."  
  
Her reaction is positive. "Boy, that's what I was thinking just the other day. Good place to trade, that's what we need."  
  
"Good. I was sketching based on what I could recall from the outside, but what do you think?"  
  
"I think it's good to remember the past, but let's not get stuck there. The old Hob was cold in the winter and unbearable in the summer. We didn't have much room and there weren't real walls to protect the goods, plus we sold hard liquor right next to diaper cloth."  
  
"So improving the building while retaining the concept?"  
  
Sae nodded.  
  
"We were also talking that maybe Katniss and I could have booths. People could trade for wild game, berries or bread."  
  
"I like that idea. I always wanted a place where folks could come for a sandwich and soup and sit."  
  
With a flourish, Peeta rips his original design out and starts fresh. "Keep telling me everything you want, the dimensions, everything. Then we will start buying supplies and hire the able-bodied people to start building. If we have to, we can contact people from other districts to come help."  
  
Supper is all but forgotten as we began to discuss it. There's an undeniable feeling of promise as we discuss the project. Peeta's face is flushed as he works with Sae hovering at his elbow making suggestions here and there.  
  
Finally, it's there on paper, drawn to scale — 24 booths and a large eating area on one end. We begin filling the gaps of what each booth should contain. Peeta places our booths side by side at the end and reasons that one person can watch both so we can maintain our "inventory."  
  
A few minutes later, I notice that Sae has stepped back and is regarding Peeta with a sort of curious disbelief. He's been talking on about purchasing the lumber and hiring people, and to me it's just Peeta speaking. Nothing out of the ordinary. He's always been generous, a doer.  
  
Finally, Sae interrupts, "Most people won't have money to buy your goods, you know. You really gonna trade with them for scraps of cloth and whatnot?"  
  
Peeta grasps immediately the context of what she is saying. "I don't expect any coins for the baked goods but I know that it's important that people feel they have paid for something, so yes, I'll take whatever is offered."  
  
"You're not like most merchants," Sae says evenly.  
  
Peeta smiles a bit ruefully. "I'm really not like any merchant. Ever since winning the games with Katniss, the 'wealth' part of being a victor bothered me. I've always felt it somewhat of a burden, and want to share it. If I can help rebuild 12 with it, then so much the better."  
  
The "wealth part" as Peeta describes it, is the portion of our winnings which arrives annually. The new government had opted to maintain the payments, in spite of the fact that the new regime was not responsible for the Hunger Games. In fact, with only seven victors left, the government had increased our payments and other benefits, probably assuaging some kind of guilt about not protecting seventy-five years worth of tribute children from the various districts.  
  
I feel a smile cross my lips and remember how he promised to give part of our winnings to Rue and Thresh's family. "Me too. I want to help too." Peeta's eyes meet mine for the first time in forever. Not just a parting glance, but a deep soul-searching, unwavering stare. Normally, I would feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but I understand him more than ever.  
  
Sae shakes her head in disbelief. I know her interaction with the merchants of 12 was strained at best, so to hear Peeta's words must be a little strange to her. "Boy, I always knew you had a different kind of heart." It's probably the greatest compliment she can give to Peeta, who smiles in return.  
  
Smiles and laughter still seem foreign to me. A fresh wave of guilt washes over me as I consider the number of times I've smiled or laughed in the past few days. I'm reminded of Prim whose smile and laughter I will never again see or hear. I move away from the table and busy myself with the forgotten supper preparations.  
  
Peeta notices my departure and soon I feel his hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing. Again, he is sensing my mood absolutely correctly. "Katniss, our losses have been … significant, but we need to live for them. Prim would want this." He sounds certain of it. Certain of Prim's wishes. In my heart, I know it's true. Prim was growing up, had grown up, and her concerns were not for herself. She would want me to stop mourning her and move forward. I'm just not sure that I'm ready.  
  
In that moment, however, I remember that Peeta's losses are even greater than mine. He has no family left, both brothers and his parents are gone. There's also that fact that so much has been taken from him through the torture. Yet, he is moving forward with his life. Peeta gives me hope that I will be able to do the same.  
  
Our meal is overcooked, but no one seems to notice or mind. Sae is telling stories about what the Hob was like in the early days. Some are sad, others funny, but mostly they are a history lesson. Peeta asks many questions, and Sae obligingly answers all of them.  
  
When she notices the time, Sae rushes to help cleanup. We assure her that it's not a problem for us to cleanup, and she heads out the door for home.  
  
Peeta begins to wash dishes, and I pick up the towel to dry. After several minutes of silence, "Are you using the lotion?"  
  
"What?" Not sure I had heard correctly.  
  
"The lotion. For the scarring and adaptation of your new skin."  
  
I frown. "I don't have any lotion. I don't think I ever have." But then I remember a bottle given to me when I moved to Snow's mansion. There were vague instructions, but I was not really adhering to anything at that point, let alone instructions to apply the lotion to my burned areas several times a day.  
  
"I'll be right back." True to his word, Peeta returns a few minutes later carrying a small bottle of light blue lotion. "I noticed your arms just now, and you need to start applying the lotion so that the scarring won't be so bad and your skin will adapt to the new skin. It'll help you be in the sun too."  
  
"What about you?" I had noticed that Peeta's scarring was significantly less than mine, and his new skin mostly the same color as his natural skin.  
  
"I have another, but I will make sure they send more out by train. The new skin is so delicate." Delicate. Yep, that's the word for it. Mine had a tendency to be baby pink when I bathed, and I still remembered how I bled when I wore the Mockingjay costume. Of course, the Capitol had something to help. They had sent something to me to heal my burn in the first arena.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Massage it all the way in, morning and night. You might need a midday application too since you have not been using it. Your skin will feel kind of tight for awhile, but I think you will see improvement right away." He sounded like a doctor.  
  
Peeta left for his house and I walked upstairs to my room, carrying the small bottle with me. I applied the lotion as Peeta had directed, and sought out my bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep. But it wasn't to be, as hours later I was pulled from my sleep by an excruciating nightmare: Peeta pulling Prim to safety, only to be consumed in fire as well.  
  
My heart was pounding, and a darkness washed over me.  
  



	2. The Tables Have Turned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games and all characters belong to Suzanne Collins.

Peeta has been home nine days now. I had my first setback since he returned, the day after I found out that Peeta had tried to save Prim. It started with a nightmare that was difficult to shake. I would wake and then doze off and pick up where it left off.  
  
In my nightmare, Peeta was dead and that thought was almost more unbearable than the reality that Prim actually was dead. At first, only Peeta and Prim haunted my sleep, but soon they were joined by Cinna, Glimmer, Rue, Cato, Portia, the woman from the Capitol who had the misfortune of having us ascend into her apartment. The list was endless.  
  
The next morning, I could not rouse myself from bed. Peeta came to check on me and hovered close by for most of the morning. Then he left, but not before placing a tray of food and water by my bed.  
  
More nightmares followed, and he finally arrived in the evening to check on me again. I felt like I was in a tunnel with darkness all around. He spoke, but his words seemed like gibberish. He left again, replacing the uneaten food with fresh food.  
  
The next morning, I was still cloaked in darkness, and Peeta again came by. The nightmares had morphed into a series of faces of people who had died because of me. Most of the time, their bloody death was the final scene, quickly replaced by the next face, and so on. I was worn out and exhausted. He tried to persuade me to come downstairs but I couldn't move. Peeta hovered close by and I could tell he was uncertain of how to deal with me at this point. He had never had to deal with a despondent Katniss before, and it was unnerving to him.  
  
That night, he arrived to inform me that the next morning I would be joining him for breakfast one way or another. He sounded a little angry, and his anger permeated my brain but not enough to matter. Again, Peeta removed the uneaten food and left me on my own.  
  
I dreamed of my father that night. The first time in months that my oldest nightmare had surfaced. He had always told me the same thing in it, "Katniss, you must be strong." I had always felt that it was my sub-conscious giving me a kick in the pants to keep going, but now I was not so certain.  
  
True to his word, Peeta made sure I joined them for breakfast by carrying me downstairs and sitting me on the chair in my underwear. The old Katniss would have been mortified. The new Katniss simply did not care, although the scent of caramel rolls baking did have an affect on me. My stomach growled and I felt like eating for the first time in days.  
  
Sae seemed amused by Peeta's actions, not to mention his words as he kept up a steady stream that morning. A special kind of paints were arriving on the train that day, along with chalk and colored pencils. He was also expecting a shipment of baking supplies and once they arrived, he was going to begin baking pies, cookies and cakes again.  
  
He asked me if I knew of berry patches that might be appearing soon. I shrugged, a little angry that he had pulled me from my hovel but at the same time, a bit relieved as well.  
  
After breakfast, Peeta announced loudly, "Now Katniss, two choices. Either you can go and shower on your own, and get dressed for the day, or I will assist you."  
  
That got my attention! "You wouldn't dare!" I challenged.  
  
"Wouldn't I?" With that, Peeta was on his feet and as quick as anything, lifting me in his arms and carrying me back upstairs to my bathroom. I thrashed against him but his arms held me tight. He set me down on the stool, and then proceeded to start the water in the shower. I sat with arms crossed against my chest, still daring Peeta to continue. Once the temperature was adjusted, Peeta again picked me up and placed me under the water.  
  
Sputtering, I tried to push him away, but he had joined me, fully clothed and kept one arm across my chest to restrain me. He reached for my braid and roughly pulled out the tie, and then his hands became delicate as he unraveled the strands and let my hair drop. Peeta surprised me further when I felt his arm release and both hands go to my head where he massaged the shampoo in. Much gentler than my prep team had ever been, it felt like he was pulling the tension from my body.  
  
Finally, he gently pushed me under the stream of water to rinse. "There now, finish showering, I will get you some clothes, and be back to walk you to the fence so that you can hunt."  
  
Arguing seemed pointless, and to be honest, he had broken through to me. I finished my shower and then stepped out to see that he had chosen a soft green flannel shirt and black pants. On top was a set of clean underwear, bra and socks. I almost smiled when I realized the rummaging he must have done to get the items. I dried, applied the burn lotion, and put on the clothes, then combed and braided my hair.  
  
Before leaving the room, I made up the bed and picked up the clothes that I had discarded. Downstairs, Peeta was already waiting in fresh clothes, my hunting jacket in hand. We walked out together to the fence without a word spoken until Peeta said, "Have a good day, Katniss. Spring is here. I'll see you at supper." I nodded.  
  
I spent the day wandering, and again Peeta consumed my thoughts. Obviously, he did still care. By mid-afternoon, I was laughing at the activities of the morning. The absurdity of Peeta climbing into the shower with me. A year ago, Peeta would have feared my reaction, but today he showed no timidness just tenacity.  
  
True to his word, Peeta arrived for supper. He and Sae worked together preparing a stew. Neither questioned my lack of game. Both seemed intent on keeping the conversation going. Peeta was explaining about his new paints, when suddenly he remembered something, "Katniss, nearly forgot, but there was a package for you there as well, so I signed for it. It's there on the table in the living room."  
  
A package for me? Who would be sending me something. I jumped up and moved to the living room, and grabbed the plain brown package. Sure enough the address indicated me: Katniss Everdeen, District 12. No return address.  
  
I tore the paper off and opened the box. Inside were Capitol pens with permanent ink and a box of parchment paper, along with a letter from Dr. Aurelius. The beginnings of my book. I could not believe it and clutched the box of paper close to my chest. I didn't hear Peeta's approach. He cleared his throat, and I startled as I turned.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"No. Ummm. Peeta, I …" I wasn't sure what to say, but I wanted Peeta to be a part of this too. "Dr. Aurelius sent this to me." Peeta's eyes glanced at the box I'm still clutching. "I want to write a book remembering all the people who …" I falter, but Peeta is quick to understand.  
  
"Who have touched our lives?"  
  
"Yes. Like Prim, and your father, and Cinna, Boggs and all the rest. Would you help … illustrate it." It's the first time that I've asked for his help, and something indiscernible flickers in his eyes.  
  
He seemed to swallow hard, but then says, "It would be an honor to help with it."  
  
"We can start after supper." He nodded, and resumed supper making. I moved to help out too because suddenly I had a goal which seemed far off with supper in the way.  
  
The three of us ate in silence. I knew that both Peeta and I were considering all of the people who had "touched our lives" as Peeta put it. Once we were done with supper, we hurried to clean up, and Sae left shortly after. It wasn't that I didn't value her input, but this was something for Peeta and me.  
  
We sat down at the table across from each other, hands folded mirroring each other. "Where do we start?" I ask.  
  
"At the beginning … with your father … the whole story … but you can arrange it however you want."  
  
"There are photos of some, but others you will need to sketch." Peeta nods. "I'll write something for each. We should make a list." Again Peeta nodded.  
  
We decided on the supplies we needed, and Peeta left for his house to get colored pencils, paints, his sketchpad and pencil. I gathered regular paper and pencils, along with the parchment and new pens. Peeta returned and there's color in his cheeks.  
  
"We should get a special leather binder for the finished product, one that might have spaces for photos or drawings on the front." It's my turn to nod, and I make a note to mention it to Dr. Aurelius.  
  
Our starting point — we have decided is to list everyone who we want to include but leave space for more to be added later.  
  
My father, Prim, Peeta's father and family, Cinna, Portia, Peeta's prep team, Rue, Thresh, Glimmer, Clove, Marvel, Cato, Foxface, Mags, Finnick … Once we start listing people, it's hard to stop. Then Peeta realizes that Haymitch might want to add people, and that brings thoughts of Maysilee, Madge, the Mayor and the rest of the family, all of the residents of District 12 who did not make it.  
  
But my father was first. There are no photos of him. Mother took them to 13 when she escaped. Peeta started to work immediately though without any prodding from me. I'm curious as to what he's drawing but don't want to intrude, so instead I busied myself writing a brief description of what I want to include for each.  
  
Peeta was working quickly from memory, and I wondered how accurate the sketch will be but then he handed it to me and my breath caught. There, in amazing detail, was my father in hunting coat, tall boots and a brimmed hat pushed up on his brow. His smile reached his eyes as he looked down … at his little girl clutching his hand and gazing up at him with adoration. Peeta had drawn me at about the age of eight. Between us swings the game bag, and I realized that this is a memory of Peeta's who was only eight at the time as well. Tears well but I don't let them spill.  
  
He waited for my comment, saying nothing. Finally, when I trusted myself, "Oh Peeta, it's … incredible. Thank you." He smiled sadly as he transferred the image to parchment, scaled to fit and allowed me room to print beneath.  
  
"Can I … I mean could I keep this one?" I asked, referring to his first sketch. He nodded.  
  
"If you would like, I can paint it for you."  
  
"Yes, please." I wanted to offer him something for it, but know that it's something he wanted to do for me, so I will have to find something to do for him. That's when I realized I wanted to share my woods with him.  
  
So today finds us approaching the fence. Peeta was surprised by my offer but seemed pleased.  
  
I watch him closely for signs of distress, knowing that he's unaccustomed to the forest, but something has changed in Peeta. He's no longer afraid of unfamiliar surroundings like he was in the first arena of the field with the tall grass. Two arenas and a rebellion probably took the fear right out of him.  
  
He slips under the fence and then turns to offer me his hand forgetting that I have done this hundreds of times through the years. But I take his hand anyway, if for no other reason than an affirmation that he still wants to touch me. Spontaneous touches are mostly a thing of the past, so I relish the opportunities.  
  
We don't talk much as we head into the woods, but his eyes are full of wonder and a little excitement. He stares at the large pine trees, the oaks and maples on the cusp of budding for another season, the forest coming alive again. Periodically, we stop and listen to the birds —songbirds each with their own tune, it's comforting.  
  
After awhile we sit beneath a towering old oak. Peeta is taking it all in. A large gray squirrel flits by and Peeta looks at me questioningly. "You want squirrel stew for supper?" I tease, and he smiles that crooked smile of his.  
  
"I could go for some squirrel stew."  
  
Sitting there, I realize that I have not even attempted many shots since I returned home. The woods have simply provided a source of healing for me. A solitude.  
  
"We'll shoot one just before we go back." He nods.  
  
"Katniss, I wanted to … apologize for the other day."  
  
I'm confused, wondering what he felt the need to apologize for.  
  
"I shouldn't have told you about Prim. It brought back too many bad memories, and I'm sorry."  
  
I don't answer immediately. I feel as though everyone walks on egg shells, myself included. Always regretting words or actions that really can never be taken back or discarded. "It was hard to relive those hours, Peeta, but it also helped put things in order." I wonder if it makes sense. "I had so many questions about Prim. Some I will never answer, but the biggest one was always whether she died alone. You'll never know how much it meant to learn that she was not alone, Peeta. She had you in her final moments."  
  
He's been quiet for awhile, and finally speaks. "She was like a little sister to me, Katniss."  
  
I look over quickly, and maybe a little too sharply, "What?"  
  
His smile is soft and sad, his eyes are faraway. "She used to come visit me after the first Games." He stops and I don't push, knowing it will come out in time, but surprised by this new found fact. "She also came to see in when I was in 13 … it's how I remembered her earlier visits between the Games." This simple fact hits me squarely, Prim was visiting Peeta while I did everything in my power to stay as far away as possible.  
  
"I'll never forget the first visit in 13. She came in without a care in the world. I was still restrained but she acted like it was any other day. 'Good morning, Peeta! I thought you might like to share a cookie like we used to. Of course, the cookies here are not nearly as good as the cookies you make.' That was it! Day after day, she would take time to come in and talk to me about all the afternoon visits she made to me when we were neighbors. Fortunately, the Capitol never altered anything to do with her."  
  
I can't hide the shock of this and wonder if Prim harbored a school girl crush on Peeta. He seems to read my mind, and shakes his head, again with the sad smile.  
  
"Her very first visit to me ever was to tell me how glad we both made it home, and how she had loved to hear about my … crush on you." He's careful to use the word "crush," and it makes me a little sad, but he continues. "She said, 'Peeta, give her time and she will get everything figured out.' Well, a few days later, I got too engrossed in my painting and forgot about some bread in the oven, and it burned something awful. Filled the whole first floor of my house with smoke, so I opened the windows to let it out. Prim was walking by and saw the smoke and rushed in thinking that my home was on fire. When she retold the story in 13, it was the first laugh I had since being taken captive."  
  
I never realized how Prim was taking the time with Peeta, and guilt heaped upon me.  
  
"At first, she never mentioned you, just memories of her and I, like the fact that she was the first one to see my paintings, and how she suggested getting a cat, but when I couldn't find one, she decided to share Buttercup with me. When you would push the cat outside, he would come to my door and wail until I let him in."  
  
"Is that why he regards you like a good friend?" I ask reproachfully.  
  
"Probably," he smiles. "Then one day she came to my room and she said, 'You know Katniss loves you and she's hurt by you. I think it's time that we work on getting you back on track. You've got to get on with your life.' Well, I still had so many flashbacks at that point, but hearing her words pushed through something. I knew that I wanted to believe her, even if she was just making it up. ..."  
  
Peeta continues to talk, but I'm still focussed on Prim's words that Peeta has casually dropped into the conversation. In retrospect, it's easy to see that Prim had always known the secrets of my heart. Prim had never once encouraged me to seek out Gale, he was a friend in Prim's eyes and nothing more. But from the start, she had always told me to go see Peeta. She was also the one who had made me see Snow's bigger plan for Peeta. I suppose under other circumstances, I might have felt betrayed but I knew Prim was acting on what she thought to be my best interests.  
  
"… So she kept me company as I worked on the cake. Chattering away about her plans for the future, and so forth. Telling me that she would stay in 13, and train as a doctor, but that she would come back to 12 after. She believed that 12 needed to be rebuilt. Then one day, near the end of decorating that cake, she came to me and said, "I think it's time you see Katniss. She's been shot, but she's recovering …"  
  
"Wait now. What? It was Prim's idea? Why didn't she tell me?"  
  
"I don't know. I think Prim thought you would be upset if you knew she was visiting me."  
  
I remember back to that time, and while I doubt if I would have been upset over the visiting, I know I would have been unhappy that they were discussing me.  
  
"I'm sorry, Katniss, for the way I treated you that night. No excuses. I was very rude."  
  
"Peeta, stop. I was just as much to blame for what happened that night. I should have been trying to help you instead of lashing out." There's a moment of hurt in his eyes, and I realize that he's thought along the same lines at some point. "I'm sorry, Peeta. I should have been focussing on you more, I just couldn't handle that I was responsible for what they did to you."  
  
He lets out a short laugh that sounds a little bitter. "You're not to blame for what they did. But I agree, you should have come to see me, although I know that it would have been difficult with me spewing so much hate. You should have known it was not me. The turning point for me was being in the field with you, spending time and learning to fight the flashbacks."  
  
We sit in silence for several minutes. There's no changing the past, and we both know it. I can't fight the guilt I feel either though about his torture and the time he spent in 13 afterward. "I should have known, and I'm sorry."  
  
"Katniss, it's time for both of us to quit apologizing for things we can't control. I know there's still things to discuss from our past, but we both need to let go of those things which are impossible to change."  
  
Minutes pass, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Finally Peeta says, "Hey, could you show me some leaves and stuff that I can gather?"  
  
I welcome the distraction as we begin looking around for the plants just beginning to turn green. Peeta catches on quickly, and soon he is choosing on his own, sometimes asking me to verify that his assumption is correct. As we explore, our conversation turns to the months ahead. There's a strawberry patch that should be blooming soon. Other berries will be starting to ripen about the same time, while others will ripen over summer.  
  
As we gather, I steal glances at Peeta. He looks better than even a week ago. His cheeks are flushed and he seems to be enjoying himself. I'm really starting to wonder what has drawn him back to 12. Perhaps he has come to rebuild. Maybe nostalgia is at the heart of it. Whatever it is, I decide that it isn't likely me because he rarely looks in my direction. Loving me was probably too frustrating even before the Capitol got to him, now it's probably not worth the bother to him.  
  
So then, what does that leave us. Friendship, I guess. I laugh a bit at the irony of this which causes Peeta to look up inquiringly. "Nothing, just thinking." The answer satisfies him, and he goes back to work and I go back to thinking. Not so long ago, a relationship hardly seemed worth the bother, and marriage was out of the question. So, do I want marriage now? Maybe, someday, but only to Peeta. This revelation is a bit shocking in itself. I've never thought about it and now I'm considering it but only to Peeta?  
  
Peeta had saved my life twice. Well, twice in the Capitol. The first being when I was on fire, and the second was when he prevented me from taking the nightlock. Did he do so out of loyalty, or was there something else still there?  
  
Suddenly, though, my mind changes direction. Peeta had months to himself in the Capitol. What if he found a girl there who he's interested in? What if he's determined to rebuild 12 so that he can bring her back here? Maybe he is hanging out with me because he doesn't have any feelings left, so it doesn't matter. I yank on some leaves and take the tender roots with it.  
  
"Hey, you okay?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You seem a little agitated."  
  
"No, I'm fine," I answer a bit more curtly than his statement warrants. But I am irritated, or agitated, and then I realize I'm jealous of this faceless girl from the Capitol. Jealous? I've never been jealous of anyone. Am I being irrational? Probably, but it's hard to get my thoughts under control.  
  
"We should probably get back. I want to see if they've made progress in town demolishing the old buildings."  
  
We start for home. "Thank you Katniss for showing me your woods." Peeta says a bit too formally.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"I would like to go again sometime." This makes me smile.  
  
"Sure, whenever you want."  
  
"Good. There's so many possibilities."  
  
I nod. "How's your leg?"  
  
"Oh, ummm, I hardly even notice anymore. I was fitted with a new prosthetic in December. It simulates movement much better, and actually looks more realistic. Not that it matters."  
  
"Good." I pause wondering if I should ask him straight out. "Did you have fun in the Capitol?"  
  
"Fun? I wouldn't call it fun. They housed me in the Training Center, my old room." I looked up in shock, realizing that I had been a prisoner in the room across from him, but chose not to divulge that immediately.  
  
"They asked me to be the voice of 'rebuilding effort' as they called it. I did a few propos but decided that might be doing more harm than good because … my mind was elsewhere. There were dances, of course."  
  
"Of course," I say, realizing my tone might sound a little dejected.  
  
"Fortunately, my leg had been damaged enough to prevent me from dancing much." I glance sideways at him, and he does seem truthful.  
  
"Capitol-style dances?"  
  
"Yes and no. A lot of food, but the dancing was a bit more traditional, and the only outrageous costumes were from the servers who were all Capitol residents. The attendees were from various districts. I saw Gale there a few times." I glance in his direction and notice he's looking in mine, with a fleeting something in his eyes that can't be pinpointed.  
  
"So were there a lot of young people there?" I'm not usually interested in the happenings at a dance, but I'm curious to know who might have attracted Peeta's attention.  
  
"There were some. There was a girl from three, who turned out to be the niece of Beetee. She was very sweet." My heart dropped. "She was engaged to an engineer from her district, and they were working on neutralizing the remaining pods." I exhale, maybe a bit too loudly. "Johanna came to a few and managed to remove the majority of her clothing before the fourth or fifth dance." I'm miffed that my roommate is continuing her brazen ways. "Gale seemed to show an interest in her."  
  
His tone is mild, but there's significance to his statement, as if he's gauging my response. "Well, she liked him when we were in 13." I'm mulling over the information. I planned to keep in touch with Johanna, but I'm not sure if I should now that she might be with Gale. It doesn't bother me if she is, I just don't want to hazard an accidental run-in with Gale.  
  
"I guess … I thought Gale would probably wait for you until the trial was over. I expected to find him back here."  
  
"Gale and I are just friends, nothing more and seemingly much less now." I don't really think about how my words sound until I notice a slight smile on Peeta's face.  
  
"Much less because of Johanna?"  
  
"No … ummm … something happened. I don't … can't tell you about now, but I will someday."  
  
His features cloud somewhat, and I'm not certain why, but he continues. "Delly arrived with some other girls from 13. Those poor girls had never set foot outside of their underground prison, and suddenly they were thrust into the frivolity of the Capitol. They had no idea of what was going on and made us look positively sophisticated alongside them. I'm afraid they were seriously taken advantage of by the young men from other districts."  
  
We walk in silence for a bit, before Peeta continues. "Delly, of course, was Delly. Same bright cheerful countenance. Made my days a little brighter. She will be coming home end of summer."  
  
Delly! Of course, Delly. I should have known. And, she'll be coming home end of summer. Lovely! Well, at least I know. She is nice, and she and Peeta have been friends forever. Plus, she spent so much time together with him in 13 She's got a great personality. Before I can stop myself, "So you and Delly are together now?" There's an edge to my voice.  
  
"What? No! How can you say that? Delly is like my sister, always has been." He sounds angry. "Do you think I'm like Gale? Running off with someone just because you …" Peeta stops. We're looking at each other square on now, and it's the closest to angry as I've ever seen Peeta.  
  
My anger flares too. I can't help it. "No! Just never mind."  
  
We stand there facing off with one another for several seconds. Finally, I turn my shoulders and start walking. Reluctantly, Peeta follows, and I mull the exchange. So Peeta is not with Delly. He pretty much confirmed that he wasn't with anyone because of me. On the other hand, he might have been planning on saying something else.  
  
We reach the fence, and finally I blurt out an apology. "I'm sorry Peeta. I shouldn't have assumed. Things have been a little … different, you know?" He nods.  
  
"Katniss, I'm still sorting through things, but I'm not going to get involved with someone until I know exactly what is going on, okay. Not Delly or anyone."  
  
Not exactly a declaration of his undying love, but not hopeless either. We walk the rest of the way in silence.  



	3. The Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters are the property of Suzanne Collins.

It starts out normal enough. _I'm walking with my father along the shore of the lake._  
  
 _"Papa, why can't things in life be easy? Why do things have to be so difficult?"_  
  
 _"What things, Kit (his nickname for me)?"_  
  
 _"Relationships, friendships, romance. That stuff."_  
  
 _He laughs and I realize how I miss his laughter. "Kit, nothing in life worth having comes easily. You have to fight for it."_  
  
 _We continue in peaceful silence, but all too soon I hear the bark of the approaching mutts._ Mercifully, I'm pulled from my sleep before they arrive. Experience tells me that it's better not to go back to sleep because this could be the beginnings of a nightmare I'm unable to shake for a long time.  
  
Instead of sleeping, I go to my window and look toward Peeta's house. There's still lights on the lower level and I'm surprised because he never appears weary in the morning. Things have been strained between us since I unjustly accused him of being with Delly. I'm amused by my choice of words as unjustly doesn't seem to fit with who Delly is as a person.  
  
Still, we have lost ground in terms of the friendship we were establishing. True, we spend a lot of time together, but I think I pushed him away by assuming he was with someone else. I think he believes that I probably care less about him than ever.  
  
He still comes for breakfast and supper. We still work on the book. We still go gathering together. But our conversations are always superficial: the weather, Buttercup, what to eat. I don't know how to fix it and that's the crux of the problem. "Nothing in life worth having comes easily. You have to fight for it."  
  
"Fight how?" I say aloud to myself.  
  
The sun is starting to rise and I decide to get dressed and go hunting. Still the best distraction ever is spending time in the woods. Just beyond the fence, I surprise a wild turkey. Because they are big and clumsy, I get off an easy shot even though I wasn't ready. This "kill" makes me feel inexplicably good.  
  
I pluck the young Tom where he lays, and stuff him in my game bag. As an afterthought, I grab some of the feathers and stuff them in my pocket. Peeta is alone in the kitchen when I arrive, and he's surprised to see me entering through an outside door rather than the hallway.  
  
"I'll give you three guesses as to what I have in here, and if you guess right, we can eat it for supper." I'm surprised by my teasing tone, and apparently, so is Peeta.  
  
He considers me for a moment, and then casts a curious glance at the game bag. "You've finally shot something? I thought maybe you lost your touch." He's teasing too, and a smile threatens his features.  
  
"One arrow," I say, pretending to be offended. "Now three guesses, and be quick about it."  
  
"Well, what happens if I'm wrong?"  
  
I hadn't considered this aspect, but think quickly enough. "I will feed it to Buttercup."  
  
Peeta tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "Must be something good." I nod. "Let's see," he paces around me, one arm across his chest, while his other hand reaches to his face where it rests in consternation. "Too small for a deer."  
  
"Is that a guess?"  
  
"Nope, just narrowing down the options. Too big for a squirrel."  
  
"Peeta!" I warn, but I'm grinning at him with no intention of feeding it to Buttercup.  
  
"Rabbit." Peeta says, quirking his eyebrow at me.  
  
"No."  
  
"Give me a hint."  
  
"No hints."  
  
"Animal or bird?"  
  
"No hints."  
  
"Possum." He blurts.  
  
Exasperated, I shake my head again.  
  
Just then I notice his eyes brighten, "It's a bird of some kind."  I follow his eyes and notice the telltale feathers poking out of my pocket.  
  
"Damn you, Peeta Mellark. I said, no hints." But I'm smiling anyway, because he's closer than he's been in days and this is the most fun we have had in a long time.  
  
"True, you said no hints. But this is not a hint. It's carelessness on your part." He's chuckling now, and pulls the feather from my pocket.  
  
"Not damp, can't be a duck. May I?" He reaches for the bag.  
  
Suspicious, I pull it away, but ask, "What for?"  
  
"I won't look inside, I just want to hold it for a second." And so he does. He hefts the bag, and frowns at first. "More than one?" he questions. I shake my head. "Only bird I know this big is a turkey!" he exclaims proudly, and laughs at my look of defeat.  
  
I pull it from the bag plucked but unprepared for anything else. Peeta whistles low in appreciation. "All right then, Katniss. This is a feast in the making. I will buy some potatoes and make some special rolls. What's your favorite vegetable?"  
  
"Carrots," I answer quickly.  
  
"Good, I have a recipe I want to try. The train is coming in today why don't you come down and help choose."  
  
I've shied away from the train, preferring to let Sae or Peeta do the choosing. But today feels like an exception. "Sounds good." Peeta smiles briefly.  
  
I move to the corner of the kitchen long ago set aside for me to clean the game. It's been well over a year since I cleaned my last kill here. It makes me a little sad, but I push through it and quickly extricate the head, neck and internal organs. Buttercup moves in closer, obviously remembering that this is usually the point where he gets a treat. I reach for his dish and heap it full and set it back down on the floor. He promptly attacks it with a half growl, half purr. He's fatter now and looks much better than when he first came home. I still swallow a lump when I see him.  
  
Once the bird is dressed, Peeta asks how large it is and I guess it's around 25 lbs.  
  
"What do you think about asking some people to join us?" Peeta asks.  
  
I don't answer immediately, trying to figure out if I'm ready for company or not, and then I realize that most of the people who returned are from the Seam, and therefore probably less company than friends. "Who are you thinking?"  
  
"Haymitch, Sae, her granddaughter, Thom, Jack, Graham."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"It'll be good. You'll see."  
  
I'm less certain, but I'm happy to oblige Peeta as he never really asks for much.  
  
Sae arrives and is surprised to find breakfast preparations well underway. "Doesn't look like I'll be needed around here much longer," but she doesn't seem upset about.  
  
"Nonsense," Peeta interjects quickly, "even if you don't make breakfast, your company is appreciated."  
  
Greasy Sae smiles at Peeta, "Such a good boy!" Peeta grins in return. So much like he was before the torture.  
  
"Katniss, perhaps you would like to play your guessing game with Sae?" It was quite obvious that I was working on a turkey, so I was a bit confused. "Or maybe I should get us started?"  
  
"Please, by all means."  
  
"So Sae, as you can see Katniss had a lucky shot today and bagged a turkey." I huffed out loud at his use of the word "lucky" which causes him to grin widely in my direction. "So we decided that we'd like to share the bounty." He's being pretty liberal with the term "we" which makes me smile because it sounds like we are together. "So, I'll give you three guesses as to who we plan to invite."  
  
Peeta's eyes are twinkling and Sae's eyes twinkle right back. "Well, Peeta, let's see. My first guess is going to be Haymitch."  
  
Peeta claps slightly, "You're a much better guesser than me, that's one!"  
  
Sae pauses thoughtfully, "I'll guess Thom and Graham, maybe Jack too, because they've been working hard on your bakery."  
  
"All correct, plus we'd like you and your granddaughter, Sadi, to come. You're our guests so today, we'll feed you."  
  
She's speechless. No one had ever offered her a feast without strings but if Peeta had his way, he would gladly do this kind of thing all the time.  
  
"Well, now there, boy. I will be here, looking forward, and if you don't mind since you two have things in hand, I might just go on home and get some work done."  
  
"Be back at 6!" and with that Sae is out the door. I'm pretty sure there were tears threatening just before she left, and she just wanted to escape before she spilled them in front of us. Crying out of gratitude was new to her.  
  
Peeta starts making French toast. We had it about a week ago, and it's one of my favorites. I feel a little embarrassed that he does so much of the cooking, but I help out where I can and he's willing to teach. Today, is going to be one of those teaching days.  
  
"Okay, so turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, carrots. What about dessert?" Peeta is busy working on the menu.  
  
"How about that apple crumble you made a few nights ago?"  
  
The twinkle has not left his eyes, and they are absolutely sparkling now. "So you liked the apple crumble?" My cheeks color slightly as I nod. "Well, good choice. Plus, remember the soups we were served in the Capitol? Did you have a favorite the night you sampled all of them?"  
  
I remember that night well. Peeta had proposed and I was aware at how we had failed to convince the people of our love. Now, I realize the people may have been convinced of our love but they could not bring themselves to care enough to stop the rebellion. I had sampled small bites and sips of everything.  
  
"Well, there were the cold soups. They were different. I liked that pumpkin spice one."  
  
Peeta looked faraway in thought, and then nodded. "I remember. I've never made it but let's see if we can duplicate it. I think it would be nice if we had soup with the meal, and I'll make rolls too." He was doing this supper right.  
  
"Let's leave the dishes so that we can walk to town and invite people first, and then get to the train." Peeta was excited, his cheeks had a rosy glow to them as we walked to town, another flawless spring day.  
  
We make our way to town and I look for the first time really at the progress they have been making. Only the foundation of the bakery where I traded often remains. As I stand there, a flood of memories washes over me. The starving girl, the boy with the bread, the more recent years of bringing squirrels which I assumed Peeta's father only traded for out of kindness, but later realizing they fed a family.  
  
Peeta is in conversation with Jack, and I hear the supper invite and acceptance. But I'm lost again in my own mind. This time, I'm in the Justice building and Mr. Mellark has just arrived with his plate of cookies. Regret. Deep regret that I never truly thanked him for his kindness. For Peeta. Regret that I discarded those cookies without a second thought. So deep within myself am I that I do not hear Peeta calling to me. He finally catches my attention by standing directly in front of me, waving his hand.  
  
"Sorry, just thinking." I mumble trying to overcome the awkward moment. Peeta studies me carefully but then nods.  
  
"Thom isn't here today, so we'll have to go down to the Seam."  
  
"What?" I feel a nervous panic rise in me.  
  
Peeta looks in the general direction of the Seam, and then nods. "I imagine it's difficult for you."  
  
I swallow the lump in my throat. I have been back to the Seam, twice in fact. Once during my first visit after the bombing and once for the propo that Gale and I shot. But It makes me anxious to consider a trip back there now. Maybe I fear the nightmares that might follow.  
  
"No, I'll go." It's a short distance, but thinking back a year, the distance was not measured in mere yards. It was measured in the entire hierarchy of the district. Even though we went to the same school, stood side by side at the reapings, it was generally assumed that born in the Seam, you died in the Seam.  
  
We walk in silence, and I take in the devastation around me. The Seam was hit hard probably in retaliation for me. But there's already work in progress. Some of the dwellings are already inhabited,  others are in the process of being repaired. Snow never meant to have any survivors from 12 that was certain.  
  
Peeta walks with certainty and stops in front of a small house that is still somewhat in disrepair. Thom is on the roof, and when he sees Peeta, a wide grin spread.  
  
"Caught me sloughing, boss," he says in a good natured way.  
  
"Doesn't appear to me like you're sloughing. Can I help?" Peeta ascends the ladder without waiting. Together, they roll the black tarpaper in place. "Thom, I'm putting in an order for shingles. I want you to be the first to get some of them."  
  
"How much do they run?"  
  
"Free to everyone who is helping rebuild. We need to get our community back up and running, and it seems to me you and the other fellas have been pretty instrumental in that, and it's my thanks to you men for all your hard work." I know Thom is a man who doesn't like to owe, so I can tell he's thinking it over when Peeta peaks over the edge, "Katniss, could you hand me the hammer down there?" I lift it up to him, and he nods his thanks.  
  
"Well, that does sound like a pretty favorable deal. Thank you," Thom answers finally.  
  
"Peeta?" I call up to him and he looks back over the ledge again, "I'm going to look around a bit." He nods, and tells me he'll be done in fifteen minutes or so.  
  
I walk toward the mine and see that the entrance is in disrepair. The slag heap stands off to the side. Sae's house is nearby and she's working in her yard. She stops to greet me, and calls to her granddaughter to bring what she is holding over to me. There's a squirming puppy in her arms. There has never been an abundance of pets in 12 mainly because we had enough trouble to feed ourselves, let alone a pet. Buttercup was an exception, and in fact, cats were the only real pets anyone had because they usually provided for themselves.  
  
Her granddaughter, Sadi, was the child of her son and a woman from the Seam. The woman died in childbirth, and Sae's son took his life after, leaving the girl who is nearly a grown woman now with Sae to raise. The girl was never "right" as she never progressed beyond that of a small child, but Sae loves her. Being mentally challenged did not exempt her from taking part in the reaping, and Sae told me one day that she had been far more nervous during those reapings than she had with her son.  
  
Now, I study the young woman in front of me. She's got beautiful light gray eyes and brownish hair. All in all, she's quite pretty. A few years ago, I overheard in the Hob that Cray had tried to lure her to his home.  
  
She holds out the bundle of golden fur to me, and I gingerly take it from her hands. The puppy isn't very old, maybe three weeks, just old enough for the eyes to be open. I tip it over on its back as it struggles against me. Male. "What are you going to do with him?"  
  
Sae grins at me. "Don't seem bound for the kettle, not that one or his eight brothers and sisters. The mother dog just sort of made herself to home a month ago, and two weeks later popped out nine of them. All kinds of colors."  
  
Peeta comes up behind me as I hold the puppy. He quickly scratches the pup's ears which results in a happy yipping noise from him. "Hey little one, where did you come from?" The puppy is eyeing him with sharp brown eyes. Sae repeats her story.  
  
"Hmmm. What do you think, Katniss? Would Victor's Village be scandalized by a pup running around?" He's smiling at me as he says it.  
  
I try to take a serious tone as Peeta plucks the pup out of my arms, "I don't know. It's a pretty high class neighborhood, you know."  
  
For whatever reason, Peeta finds this comment hilarious, and his shoulders are literally shaking. His head dips down and the pup chances a few quick licks, which causes Peeta to laugh harder, and Sae, Sadi and I join in.  
  
Finally, Sae invites us in to look at the rest of the pups. The mother dog lays quietly in the corner and  it's obvious that she belonged to someone at some point. There are a variety of colors to choose from, and both Peeta and I instantly take to a small chocolate color one with a white patch on her chest. I pull her from the box, and the mother merely looks at me, squeezing her eyes shut, as if she's giving her permission.  
  
The puppy is the tiniest in the litter, with delicate paws and sharp eyes. Peeta stands close by crooning to it like it was a baby. He looks happy, and his eyes sparkle. "Are you a little hunting dog? Would you help Katniss hunt?"  
  
"I think she looks more like a bakery dog," I suggest, which makes Peeta smile again. It's then that I notice the look on Sadi's face. She's got this dreamy-eyed stare while looking at Peeta, who is blissfully unaware. Peeta is handsome, there's no question, but it's his personality that really sets him apart. While I can't fault Sadi's choice, suddenly my thoughts turn darker again, and I wonder how many girls looked at Peeta in the same way.  
  
"Come on, Peeta, we've still got things to do." He looks at me quizzically, but sets the small pup down.  
  
"When will they be ready?" Peeta asks.  
  
"Four weeks, maybe five." Sae says  
  
"We'll see. But could you hold the small brown one for us?"  
  
Sae's eyes twinkle, "I don't think there will be much demand for the runt of the litter."  
  
Peeta nods, "See you tonight, Sae, Sadi. Bring your appetites!" His smile is genuine, and Sadi giggles a bit as we leave.  
  
We walk back through the Seam. Peeta's smile never waivers. He greets several people along the way, and I'm surprised at how many he knows on a first name basis. Peeta has just greeted a young girl named Sunny, when I hear a familiar voice. Hazelle. I look around quickly, and see her standing just outside the Hawthorne home.  
  
"Hazelle's home," I say out loud, but more to myself. Peeta looks up quickly and turns to me, then follows my eyes in the direction I was looking. My emotions are mixed. Happy to see a familiar face, unhappy because I realize Gale might very well be home. But Peeta is already on the move, and I have to run to keep up.  
  
Apparently, Peeta is the official welcomer to District 12. "Hello, Hazelle! Glad to see you made it back!" He sounds genuine. Posy and Vick appear behind Hazelle, as she shakes Peeta's outstretched hand.  
  
"Thank you, Peeta," she says a little awkwardly. "Katniss." She nods in my direction. I nod back.  
  
Just then Rory rounds the side of the house. Rory who is 15 now, and had always seemed like such a boy is turning into a man. Rory had been Prim's first crush, and I wonder now if he ever knew. His eyes are haunted, his cheeks are hollow, and my guess is, he knew.  
  
"We'd like to invite you to join us this evening for a small feast. Katniss was lucky enough to bag a turkey today, and we are inviting some friends. We would be pleased if you could make it."  
  
Hazelle looks quickly from Peeta to me, and I know she must be wondering if we are together now. "Sounds nice."  
  
"Six o'clock then, at Katniss's house." She nods, and I wonder how awkward the night will be now. We continue on in silence as we make our way to the train station. Some people are gathered but the platform is mostly vacant. We wait several minutes, neither speaking. Peeta is uncharacteristically quiet.  
  
The train finally pulls in fifteen minutes late. Unlike the Capitol trains, I've traveled on in the past, this is a rather beaten up version with refrigerator cars and box cars. The steps are lowered and Peeta heads to the refrigerator cars. He's making quick work of selecting ham and bacon, and turns to look at me to see if there's anything else when he notices I'm staring at a leg of lamb. Without a word, he picks it up and heads to the counter where he fishes out a few coins and hands them over. The young woman working recognizes us both, here together, and her mouth gapes wide.  
  
Then she stuns me with, "I thought you weren't together? That's what the papers say."  
  
Peeta glances toward me, and for the first time since he's returned suggests that he might be interested in more. "Well, technically we are not, but I wouldn't rule it out in the future." His smile is gorgeous, and the girl attempts a stammered reply as we exit.  
  
Next, we select vegetables and fruit. It's bounty like I've never seen before — fresh carrots, peas, green beans, onions, corn. Our arms are filled, and the attendant offers us a basket, which we gratefully accept.  
  
Our last stop is at the end of the platform where crates and boxes of every size are being unloaded. Peeta's building supplies. Just as I think the last box or flat has been unloaded, another appears. Two boxcars full of goods. Peeta signs for it, and we start home, each of us holding one of the handles on the basket.  
  
Once home, the preparations begin. Peeta sets the oven and we make final preparations for the bird, covering it to keep the moisture in. He carefully places it inside the oven. I begin washing and peeling the carrots, and place them on the stove to boil. Peeta has a special recipe in mind and excitedly tells me about it which makes my mouth water.  
  
While Peeta works on the biscuits, I peel potatoes and set them on the stove without heat. Then Peeta directs me to cut up the loaf of bread and cube it for stuffing. We move to his house to complete the meal as his oven is free. First the biscuits are baked, and then the bread for stuffing is toasted. Finally, the desert we have been working on together is placed in the oven to bake, as we head back to finish the meal at my house.  
  
The table is set, and the aroma of the turkey churns my stomach as I realize that we totally missed lunch today. Soon the food is prepared, and I'm impressed by the meal in front of us. The doorbell rings causing us both to jump never really having heard it before. Peeta steps tentatively to the door and finds Thom, Graham and Jack standing there, and invites them in.  
  
The three look around cautiously, and I realize my house must seem very "Capitol" to them, despite that it is very plain in comparison. I gesture toward the couches and chairs, and offer them a place to sit. Seconds later, Sae and Sadi arrive by the back door. Hazelle and her family arrive a few minutes later. Finally, Haymitch arrives, hungover and blurry-eyed.  
  
The dining table has been fully extended with all the leaves, and there's ample room for everyone. As Peeta and I carry out the bowls and trays of food, most everyone sits wide-eyed.  
  
"Looks like quite a spread, Sweetheart," Haymitch addresses me.  
  
I snort, "All the credit goes to Peeta, Haymitch and you know that very well." His face lights up in a sarcastic grin as if he was hoping that I would give Peeta the proper credit.  
  
"Not true," Peeta interjects quickly. "It would be nothing without Katniss."  
  
Finally, all the food is in place, and Peeta sits at one end with Jack on one side and Thom on the other. I sit on the other with Sae to my right and Hazelle to my left.  
  
"Dig in!" Peeta calls out, "Just grab whatever is closest and start passing to the left." I smile because he's managed to initiate chaos while preserving order. Soon everyone is engrossed in the meal and all conversation ceases. The only noise is the clanking of forks, and the occasional scrape of a knife. With the exception of Peeta and me, everyone helps themselves to seconds and with the men, thirds.  
  
I have to admit that I'm happy that we were able to share. None of the food is so rich that they won't be able to handle it, and everyone is enjoying the good food.  
  
As the eating slows, the conversation picks up, as neighbors chat with one another. There's a general din, and I glance across the table and see that Peeta is intently watching me, he drops his gaze when I notice.  
  
"There's apple crumble for desert," Peeta says, and a chorus of groans is heard. Everyone has eaten their fill and then some.  
  
'Why don't you all rest in the living room for a bit, and let your food settle, and then we can serve the desert," I suggest.  Peeta nods, and everyone pushes back and heads toward the living room. Peeta and I begin to clear the table, and I whisper to him conspiratorially, "Is it a bad thing I could go for a piece now?" He chuckles low, and the sound warms my heart.  
  
"Well, I will look the other way if you choose to do so, Miss Everdeen." I laugh at this, but I don't get a chance to test the theory, as everyone is making their way back to help clear the table. As I watch, I notice that Peeta is the only blonde among a sea of mostly dark haired Seam people. I bite my lip realizing with sadness that the Merchants were nearly wiped out.  
  
A little later, the group has gathered in the living room. Thom produces a fiddle, and begins to play traditional songs. The furniture is pushed out of the way, giving room for a small dance floor. Graham holds his hand to Sadi to dance. Surprisingly, she's very good. Peeta holds his hand out for me, and we dance. Not surprisingly, Peeta is a very good dancer. Vic and Posy dance. Haymitch invites Hazelle, who looks a little flustered.  
  
After awhile, I notice Rory standing by the window looking out, and I whisper to Peeta that I want to talk to him. Peeta glances over and nods.  
  
Rory is taller than I remembered, he's lost some of his boyishness. He favors Hazelle more than his father and subsequently, not Gale. "How's it going?"  
  
"Fine, Katniss. How's it going for you?"  
  
I look at the boy who I barely know, but there's an understanding that I can be honest. "Better most days, not so good other days."  
  
He nods. "I miss her," his voice catches. "I begged her not to go but they said she would be safe and never in harm's way." He roughly wipes a tear that escaped his eye.  
  
I can't trust myself to speak immediately, so I just rub his shoulder and back a bit, glad that everyone is having a good time behind me.  
  
"You made a good choice, Katniss," he says bitterly, and I don't follow. He sees the confusion and adds, "Peeta. He's the right choice, and I'm glad for you." I'm a little stunned. Rory always worshipped Gale. It was plain to see.  
  
"Well, I don't know if he'd still choose me anymore," I say without thinking.  
  
Rory's smile is sad and ironic, "How could he not choose you, Katniss? He's been in love with you forever. The Capitol messed with him, but he wouldn't be here now if he hadn't chosen you all along." He pauses before continuing, "There's something to be said for that infatuation that grows from childhood onward. I know the feeling. In my heart there's only one girl for me, and she's gone."  
  
Impulsively, I hug him and he holds me tight, allowing the tears to fall. I don't ask why he feels that Peeta is better than Gale for me because in my heart, I know that to be true. Still, his statement makes me wonder what's happened between him and Gale.  
  
A short while after the apple crumble is served, everyone begins making their way home.  
  
"It was a good day," Peeta say, and I can't help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my other stories: "The Aviator and the Navigator" and the "Star-Crossed Lovers" series.


	4. Turning Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins.

Our hunting and gathering trips are now a part of our weekly routine. Peeta has proven himself a master of plants and berries, and has even managed to locate some of the elusive early ones that I struggle to find.

It's another beautiful spring day. Peeta and I walk in silence but there's no strain or tension. I glance sideways at him, marveling at how much he seems like the Peeta of old. His face is fuller than it was just a few days ago, and his eyes are clear as he takes in the woods around him. I'm relieved to share my woods with him and even feel the start of a smile on my lips.

His eyes turn in my direction and I quickly look away. I feel a blush rising, and my ears become instantly hot. "What?" he questions but not in an unfriendly way. 

My first reaction is to say nothing but then I reach into the recesses of my mind and realize that Haymitch is right about me opening up, "I like having you here with me."

"Well, I like being here with you," he says letting his eyes waiver to my lips for just a second and I think he might actually be considering a kiss. Instead, he changes the subject and decides that he has reached the area where he would like to gather for the day.

Peeta quickly becomes engrossed in examining the leaves of a variety of plants, carefully plucking them and placing them in his own bag. I move off a few yards to begin tracking small game. Not unlike our first experience in the arena, I feel compelled to keep Peeta close by. There's a thicket nearby which I'm pretty sure will yield a fat rabbit or two but I hesitate, wondering if I should move out of sight.

I look back and see him squatted close to the ground still scrounging through the leaves. He's wearing a faded flannel shirt and blue jeans today, and clearly looks as if he's part of my treasured woods. A surge runs through me reminding me once more that the feelings I tried to write off in District 2 are very much present and threaten to spill over. I feel a catch rising in my throat and wonder if Peeta will ever again return my feelings. There's an irony that I am now the one uncertain of his feelings, where just a year ago, it was Peeta uncertain of mine.

I step closer to the thicket, "Peeta," I call out, my voice sounding loud in the quiet woods. He turns to look in my direction. "I'm just going over on the other side of this." I point in the direction of the thicket. "Just for a few minutes. Call me …" My voice trails and I feel a little ridiculous, yet he understands as he nods and waves back.

I move to the opposite side, picking up small rocks as I go and settling in a bush to wait. Peeta is never far from my thoughts these days, and even as I sit waiting for my prey, he pushes to the forefront once again. I first realized the depth of my feelings when I was alone in the training room waiting for the capitol to decide my punishment for Coin's death. Hour after hour I puzzled out my feelings, piecing everything together. I had inklings before but always pushed them back.

The realization hit me during the early dawn of one wintery morning. I realized I had fallen for him in the first arena, and reluctantly pushed him away on the train back home. All those nights on the Victor's Tour sleeping in his arms were not by chance. Looking back, I realized that you don't sleep in the arms of a person who you merely regard as a friend.

The warmth of his breath on my skin which sent tingles through my body on more than one occasion was not to be denied either. I had tried to convince myself that I cared about him only as a friend, and that's why I was willing to die, but now I realized it was indeed in love. I closed my eyes remembering my violent reaction toward Haymitch when I realized that Peeta had been left behind to the devices of the capitol.

Those dark days in 13 when I watched Peeta on television, feeling that I could almost touch him through the screen invaded my thoughts. The realization that the torturing of Peeta was the one thing that would break me, and finally Finnick's revelation that my reaction to Peeta's death at the force field had been the single greatest indicator of my love.

All of these played through my mind as I spent day after day in solitary confinement singing to myself. I wished then that I could turn back time so that Peeta would have at least known how I felt before he was tortures. Who knows if it would have made a difference?

So now I love Peeta, am in love with Peeta. While he is a constant presence in my life, there are few indicators of his once strong love. I was never very good at patience but know that I need to give Peeta time. Suddenly my desire for him is almost overwhelming and I want to rush to him and declare myself, but I fear that he might turn and run from me not knowing if it was real or not real.

I push everything to the side, and launch a rock at the thicket. Sure enough, a fat rabbit makes its appearance and I easily take it with my arrow. As I collect the rabbit, a surge of fear wells up inside me and I rush back to Peeta. At first I don't see him, "Peeta? Peeta?" The panic begins to rise within me and then I see him at the far end of the clearing. He's still collecting but doesn't acknowledge me. My fear continues unabated as I rush toward him. 

A dozen feet from him, I freeze as I take in the telltale signs that he's gripped in the remnants of another flashback. In the weeks he's been home, I only saw him struggle with one other. It happened in the kitchen and he had gripped the edge of the table fighting it off. At the time, we had both chosen to ignore it. 

He's now visibly shaking and his hair is soaked in sweat. "Peeta?" I say tentatively, as I approach, carefully laying down my bow and game bag so as not to disturb him. He jumped at the sound of my voice, but I continue toward him. I know these flashbacks will likely remain for a long time and I need to figure out how to cope with them.

I'm at his shoulder when I see the cause of his current episode. While scrounging for edible plants, Peeta has come across a small patch of Nightlock, among the earliest berries to ripen. I shiver as I take in the beautiful berries, and notice that his fist is streaming the red juice. "Peeta," I say quietly as I sit on my knees behind him. I place my hand on his shoulder and feel the tension beneath it. "Peeta, it's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay," and the words send me reeling back in time. Over the course of two years, I have said those words countless times, each time knowing that it would never truly be okay. Today, though, I feel differently.

I place both hands on him, massaging tenderly and crooning the soft words to him over and over. Eventually, I feel the tension leave his body, his breathing is returning to normal. I feel him begin to slump, and move to straddle him from behind so he can rest back on me. I continue to rub his shoulders and down his arms. At one point, I reach my hand to his fist and gently extract the berries that he has been clutching.

After twenty minutes or so, Peeta exhales loudly. "That feels good." 

"You don't mind me touching you?" My voice sounds husky

Peeta sighs again, "No, I've missed it."

My heart, which has already been beating faster, now seems erratic. It's the first time he's actually voiced something like this since he returned. "I've missed you too." His head comes up slightly.

"Tell me about the Nightlock, Katniss."

I know immediately what he means. The shiny memory he is fighting against is the altered one from the Capitol about the berries in the first arena. He needs to know the truth and he can only get that from me. I sense a turning point here. If he accepts what I say as truth, his trust for me will grow infinitely.

Everything rides on this. I push him forward to a sitting position and move to his front, bringing my legs over top of his and looping them around his back. I hold him by the shoulders and look him in the eyes.

I decide to keep it simple. "Peeta, my goal that day with the Nightlock was not to start a revolution." His gaze falters, so I move my hand to his chin and steady it, wanting to trace the outline of his lips but instead I wait for him to raise his eyes to mine again. "My goal Peeta was to either get us both out of the arena or ultimately die with you. One way or another I was not leaving that arena without you."

He's considering it now just as he did those many months ago. Finally, he answers, "Real." His voice quiet. 

"Real," I say, nodding my head in assurance. 

He slides his hands up my arms and rests them on my shoulders, dangerously close to my exposed neck. "You didn't want to kill me. Real or not real."

"Real," I say and then add. "Think about it Peeta, you were bleeding to death. You had pulled the bandage and I knew you were dying in front of me. If I had wanted to kill you, I could have just waited and allowed you to kill yourself."

This time, the mulling process is less, and a slight smile emerges. "That's good logic! Katniss logic!" He's laughing now, as if he's finally conquered it. "Better logic than the torturers had, that's for sure." He pulls me forward into his strong embrace, and we hold each other for several minutes. Finally, he pushes me back slightly, and looks me in the eyes. "You've missed my touch?"

"I have." He's smiling again, and real warmth is present. I want him to kiss me but he doesn't. 

"Well, let's see if we can remedy that, shall we?"

We untangle ourselves and walk back home with our hands entwined. Peeta is busily telling me about all his discoveries and asks if I know where we might find an early patch of strawberries soon. He seems to want to put the episode behind him. I'm distracted though by the warmth of our joined hands and struggle to focus on the conversation.

Inside my house, we drop hands as I clean the rabbit and he begins preparing his finds. Part way through the process, I raise my eyes to meet his and feel a blush spreading. He smiles. Once I'm done and the area is cleaned, I move to where he is working. I realize how much of a turning point this morning really was when he gathers me in close and kisses the top of my head. 

Peeta prepares lunch. It seems like every meal includes a special dessert and today is no different. I help peel the apples as he prepares a crust, and then instructs me in making a special caramel topping. 

He moves quickly and with assurance around the kitchen, and I feel a sense of contentment as I set the table for lunch. 

"I'm glad 12 is getting a share of the vegetables and fresh fruit, but I'm looking forward to our own garden."

"Our garden?" His words, however simple, send a thrill through me. 

He blushes slightly, "Putting the cart before the horse again? Sorry."

"No, I like it. I think we should plant a large garden. Kind of gives me hope for the future, you know?"

Peeta smiles back and starts planning. "We should plant corn, peas, green beans, squash, pumpkins for pies, potatoes, tomatoes, ummm what else?"

"Cucumbers, dill, oh Peeta, let's plant our own herb garden." I could honestly say that I hadn't felt this amount of enthusiasm in so long. I turned to see Peeta's smile and know that I'm mirroring one just as broad.

Our planning continues unabated. Peeta will find a plow and turn over the ground tomorrow, and then we will set to work together to smooth it and soften it for the coming garden. As Peeta begins dipping the soup into my bowl, he asks, "What do you think of apple trees? I've always wanted my own apple trees."

"I think that sounds wonderful," I answer, as I taste the soup which is a blend of mushrooms and cheese. "Mmmmmmm! Good!"

"I tasted something similar in the Capitol. But there was a little bitterness to it, so I added a little something here and there."

"It's delicious," I assure him, knowing that his improvements have turned the soup into a delicacy. There's fresh cheese buns to compliment the meal. "You're trying to make me fat!"

"Well, you are looking better than the first day I was back. We both needed some extra weight."

I can only smile and nod in agreement.

The rest of the afternoon is spent planning the garden. Greasy Sae arrives for dinner, only stopping in once a day now and she smiles approvingly of the rabbit stew already underway. Or maybe her smile was directed toward Peeta and me sitting side by side at the table, closer than we had sat in ages, as we pored over our plans.

After she leaves, we dig out the book and begin discussing tonight's additions. Some were more difficult than others, but tonight Peeta seems to want to keep it lighter, so he suggests adding Caesar Flickerman to the pages. After the last interview with Peeta, Caesar had disappeared and no one was sure where he was but somehow no one believed that he would have been killed by the Capitol.

Peeta always had a greater rapport with him, so he dictates our description. In our collection were several dozen photos of us with Caesar. Me in the red dress, Peeta during his first interview declaring his love, but it was an unplanned photo that caught his eye. Peeta in his tuxedo and me crossing in front wearing the newly revealed Mockingjay dress. Both of their expressions are frozen as a moment in time with Peeta's eyes clearly reflecting love and Caesar's eyes showing abject appreciation. Effie must have included it in the envelope she sent to Haymitch several weeks ago.

"Here, this one," he says passing it to me. 

"Peeta, that's more me than Caesar," I counter, my throat swelling slightly as I look at Cinna's creation.

"I know. But I think it's perfect." I can't meet his eyes because I don't want to compare them to his from the photo, so I began situating it in place. 

We move on to our page about Thresh with Peeta sketching as I describe the scene of him towering above me. Amazingly, Peeta captures the nuances of the scene that makes it frighteningly real, as if he was an observer. As always, he pays special attention to the details about me, the placement of my tousled braid, my hands braced in back of me, the tip of one boot slightly pointing to the side, and even the burn mark on my pants. As I place the sketch, I notice another detail — a hand extends into the photo on the right, Clove's hand, lifeless on the ground with a knife nearby.

Peeta notices my hesitation and places a hand gently on my shoulder. In the living room we hear the old clock chime the hour of ten o'clock — the time when Peeta generally moves toward the door promising that he will return tomorrow. It's as if we both know though — the turning point of this morning extends to our nighttime sleeping arrangements. 

"Stay?" I ask quietly. Peeta nods in reply and moves to douse the lights in the kitchen. We walk upstairs hand in hand, and we undress for bed without embarrassment, both of us stripping to our underwear. Peeta slips to the window and opens it wide, and moves to his side of the bed.

From the cave forward, we've had three basic sleeping positions: me on my right side with Peeta cuddled behind which has only happened a few times; me sleeping with my head resting on Peeta's chest which was our most common position; or me sleeping on my left side and Peeta on his right with our arms wrapped around each other. I had noticed that no matter how many nightmares we had or how much we moved around in our sleep, our bodies just readjusted themselves and we remained close regardless.

Tonight we settle on facing one another, arms and legs falling into place, and our foreheads leaning together. No words are exchanged and within minutes we fall into sleep. My first real sleep since the second to the last night Peeta and I slept together in the training center. 

We awaken to see the clock on the wall registering nearly eleven. "Really?" I say aloud, having expected that I would awaken at sunrise as always. Peeta only chuckles and moves out of the bed quickly, turning away from me. 

"No nightmares?" he questions as he puts his pants on facing away from me. I'm used to it by now, even in the cave Peeta tried to hide his morning erections. I suppress a smile, knowing that nature has more to do with his current state than me. But still, it's nice to know that hasn't been taken from him.

"Nope. You?"

"None. I will be back in an hour for breakfast … lunch." He strides out and I hear his footfalls on the stairs. 

I slide out of bed and head toward the shower focusing on the day ahead. It occurs to me that as of today, Peeta has been home four weeks.


	5. The Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings are the property of Suzanne Collins.

It's been five days since Peeta and I began sleeping in the same bed again. Each morning is the same ritual with Peeta hurrying out of bed before me and going to his house to shower.  
  
By District 12 standards we are somewhat ahead of the game simply by sharing a bed through the night. That's not to say that there is no sex outside of marriage. No, indeed, sex happens with great frequency prior to the toasting, but young couples never share a bed.  
  
On the other hand, none of the young couples have survived not just one but two arenas, have loved and lost, and have had their entire worlds shattered at the hands of politicians. So, I'm not apologizing to anyone for our arrangement that helps us both get through the night. The good thing is that outside of Haymitch and Greasy Sae, no one is likely aware of our sleeping arrangements.  
  
The irony is that Peeta and I are merely sleeping together. Sex is not part of the equation. Not yet, anyway.  
  
Last night, my nightmares returned for the first time since Peeta joined me in bed. They came back with a vengeance as if to punish me for feeling like there was actually reason to hope again. My nightmares don't follow a logical path and oftentimes mix events together. This time, Rue and Prim were both killed by a spear wielded by Coin. I had thrown a knife at her which passed through her heart directly into Snow. Eventually, I was overcome by the scent of roses and was choking on the ground when the parachutes appeared all around me.  
  
Peeta's strong arms pulled me from my sleep as he hushed me with soft words. Soon, my heart quit pounding and I was able to arrest my wild thoughts, and I knew in that moment that, even if someone passed a law making it illegal to share a bed without marriage, I would never sleep without Peeta again.  
  
This morning, I notice the anxious looks from Peeta and the concern on his face, as he works to prepare a special breakfast that includes fruit-filled pastries that melt in your mouth. I smile at him tiredly as I sit in one of his t-shirts that I stole from him the other morning.  
  
"I have to say," Peeta looks at me pointedly, "I like your attire!"  
  
I smile wider in spite of myself. "It's tailor made for me."  
  
"Mmmmm," he answers, "I have a few dozen similar to that one at my house. That is, if you need another."  
  
"Well, I might, but I prefer the slightly used ones."  
  
I can't look at him as I say this, but my intention is clear. I like wearing his discarded t-shirts because they smell like him. He answers with a chuckle.  
  
In spite of everything we've gone through, Peeta is still a pillar of positivity. He's a breath of fresh air in this dismal place. I shudder to think of the tortures he's went through, but he is once again a steadying presence in my world.  I watch him work, quickly and precisely. His hands have always been a point of interest for me.  
  
"Almost done," he announces. "You going hunting today?"  
  
I shrug, mostly because I have not yet shaken off the effects of the nightmare.  
  
"Well, if you decide to go, I was thinking some nice stuffed grouse would be good for supper."  
  
"Are you coming with me?"  
  
He turns away from the counter knowing that I rarely ask him to join me but never turn him down if he asks. "An invite!" He's grinning at me, "There are some roots I'm interested in. So if you don't mind, I will tagalong."  
  
For some reason, I feel a new energy for the day as I get out of the chair to get my hunting clothes. "Let's pack a lunch, I want to show you something," I say. At Peeta's questioning glance, I add, "You might want to bring a sketchpad."  
  
My hunting clothes have changed a bit in two years. Cinna designed and made pants, shirts and boots for all seasons, and I feel a lump in my throat each time I pull something out of the closet. I can still hear his words: "Katniss I love your independence and your pursuit of hunting is admirable, but there's absolutely no reason you can't be a well-dressed huntress." Today, I choose a pair of khaki pants with a number of pockets and a brightly patterned plaid shirt with purples, yellows and blues. I feel a little out of place considering that I generally wore the same gray shirt and pants most of the time for hunting.  
  
I head back downstairs and Peeta is already sitting at the table diligently sketching. I peek over his shoulder but he shields his work from me.  
  
"Hmmmm."  
  
"No hmmmm to it. Just not ready for viewers yet."  
  
On the table is a plate full of the fine looking pastries. Peeta has already poured our milk, and I reach to grab one.  
  
"There are two kinds, strawberry and peach," he says without looking up from his sketch.  
  
I frown because even this decision is greater than I want to make today. Strawberry is tempting, but I've never even tasted peach. "How do you tell?"  
  
Peeta looks up, and picks one of the pastries up by a corner. "There should be just a touch of the filling squeezing out the end. See? This is peach."  
  
I reach for it and take it right out of his hands. He smiles at me. "You know what Effie would say to that! 'Manners!'"  
  
I laugh but shake my head. "We would both be scolded on this one. You for touching it with your fingers and me for taking it out of your hands so it would be: 'Manners!' foliowed by 'Rude!'"  
  
Peeta laughs too, knowing it to be true, Effie is one of only two people from the Games that we discuss with regularity. Haymitch is the other.  
  
"Speaking of Effie, have you seen Haymitch lately?"  
  
"Maybe we better check." Our old mentor has grown into something of a family member for us, and in spite of everything, we feel a bit protective of him.  
  
I bite into the pastry and can't contain myself as I moan audibly. Peeta stops his work and grins again. He's smiled more in the past few days then in the entire previous month. "Good?"  
  
I roll my eyes knowing that he's looking for a compliment. "You know they are good! I've never tasted anything like it!"  
  
"My father used to make them for my birthday whenever he could get strawberries." Peeta's birthday. I think back to the previous year and remember his father bringing us a treat while we were in training and patting Peeta on the back, offering a quiet birthday wish. There was such a sadness about his father, and I'm certain he felt it would be the last birthday of his son. I had honestly not thought too much about the actual day.  
  
About a week later, he arrived with a similar treat for my birthday. Since my father died, birthdays had kind of fallen by the wayside and I was surprised and touched he remembered. Especially considering that it was probably going to be my last — or so I thought.  
  
I make a mental note to find out when his birthday so that I can do something special for him. It seems that it's a good time to really start living again. Prim would have wanted it. Maybe that's why she continues to haunt me in my sleep. Maybe I need to let go a bit.  
  
Peeta works on and I continue to eat. Finally, I push the plate in his direction urging him to eat before we head to the woods. He closes his book and sets it aside and reaches for the neglected strawberry pastries.  
  
"Mmmmm these are delicious Peeta," he says out loud to himself. "Why thank you, me! Just something I threw together. You should do it more often. Well, I would if I got some encouragement. It's handy to have a baker around."  
  
I'm laughing at him and am on the verge of scolding him for talking to himself when I remember that might hit too close to home so instead I say, "I'm glad to see your ego is intact!"  
  
"Ha ha! Just barely. It's taken quite a bruising over the past few years."  
  
For some reason, his comment though in jest, sobers me immediately. I know he did not intend it as a dig, but I feel that I alone am responsible for it, and probably am. "Sorry, Peeta." I get up from the table quickly and carry my plate to the sink before he has time to see the tears spill down. I've hurt him so many times, and there's really no reason for him to be here. Maybe it's better to let him go now.  
  
I'm so engrossed in my thoughts that I don't hear him come up behind me. He puts his arms around me from behind and squeezes. His breath is hot against my neck. "Hey, I'm sorry. That wasn't directed at you. I was just joking. Nothing for you to be sorry for. Please Katniss, please."  
  
I turn in his arms and rest my head on his shoulder. "I'm just more emotional today because of the nightmare. Sorry." I squeeze him and push him back slightly. "Come on, we better get a move on if we want to check Haymitch first."  
  
Peeta grabs the basket and slides his sketchbook inside, leaving his left hand free to grab my hand. We start across the street to Haymitch's house. I haven't been in his house since before we left for the Quarter Quell. Now, as I approach the door, there's an odd sense of deja vu. We don't bother knocking, knowing that he's likely passed out drunk, so we walk right in.  
  
Without the help of Hazelle, his home is back to the same shape it was in pre-housekeeper. The pungent smell of vomit greets us at the front door. We walk through to the kitchen where he's most likely to be and see him passed out with his knife in his hand. Peeta and I stand in silence for a moment, each lost in the what are probably very similar thoughts. Neither of us wants to end up as Haymitch.  
  
Peeta looks at me and whispers, "I will check for pulse, you stay behind me."  
  
Time and near misses have taught us that it's a risk to wake him up. Peeta reaches down tentatively and feels for a pulse. A slight nod and we back away in unison. "We'll stop back on the way home." It's a good plan because waking him now would mean hours of lost time.  
  
We continue on to the meadow which is no longer a meadow but a vast scar in the ground that serves as a burial plot for Peeta's parents, his brothers, the Mayor, his wife, Madge and countless others. Peeta averts his eyes and I remind myself that we need to talk about it. It's one of those shiny memories though, that the Capitol distorted, making it seem like I was responsible for the bombing. Deep down, I wonder if I am — and maybe not so deep.  
  
We reach the fence and crawl underneath. Peeta strides in one direction, but I pull in the other. He looks at me questioningly but I say nothing during the first few minutes of our trek. I don't bother to inquire whether he can make his way a longer distance. All questions about his stamina with his artificial leg were cleared in the arena and later in the Capitol when we journeyed through the labyrinth of the Capitol's underground tunnel system.  
  
After awhile I break the silence. "Roots?" I question, glancing in his direction. Peeta's chin dips slightly, embarrassed that I finally brought it up. It would be months before roots were available for harvesting.  
  
"Well, I wanted an excuse to come with you."  
  
"You don't need an excuse, just come with me." I realized I sound harsh and squeeze his hand reassuringly.  
  
We walk on in silence for the better part of an hour. When the lake finally comes into view, I hear Peeta gasp. "It's …" he swallows hard.  
  
I'm not sure if I should tell him the history of the lake but I know he would need to know certain things because Peeta's smart and he would wonder. "My father found the lake one day when he was hunting and he used to bring me here. It's where he taught me to swim."  
  
In the back of my head is the fact that I had taken Gale here seventeen months ago when I was asking him to run with me to the woods. I remembered his reaction when he discovered I was taking Peeta too. How different these two boys were from each other. Gale had been angry, while Peeta had been accepting.  
  
Then there was also the fact that Gale used the cottage as a gathering point after the bombing. I could hardly tell that to Peeta without disclosing how Gale knew about this most secret place.  
  
I'm too lost in thought to realize that Peeta is not reacting as I had believed he would. I hear a ragged breath and look to see Peeta fighting the unseen demons that are haunting him. I have no idea what triggered them, and suddenly I realize how bad an idea it was to take him this far outside his comfort zone.  
  
"Peeta," I say softly, but he jerks back in alarm. I try to reach for him, but his eyes are wild. "This was one of your secret meeting places with Gale," his voice is accusatory and full of malice.  
  
I'm stunned as I look at him, and wonder whether I should immediately take flight knowing I can probably outdistance him and reach a tree quickly until the episode passes.  
  
"No," I say, emphasizing with an emphatic shake of my head. "No Peeta." I was lying now, but in my mind it was justified because a single meeting hardly made it a secret meeting place.  
  
"I saw you," his voice had taken on a different timber altogether, and I was frankly annoyed with him. How could Peeta have seen Gale and me here when he only started coming to the woods a few weeks ago? Then I remembered. How stupid of me! Our visit here had been taped as part of the propos for District 13.  
  
I felt a surge of panic as I realized I was fighting a shiny memory like none other. It was easy to talk him through the ones where he and I were together, and it was obvious what the torturers had told him about me. But this was quite another. I had no way of knowing how they had shaped this memory for Peeta because we had not been together. So I decided to tell the truth.  
  
"Peeta, I never meant to hurt you. Gale was a friend. Remember when I wanted you to run away with me to the woods?" He is eyeing me suspiciously now but I see a slight head nod. "You and Haymitch, Gale and his family, Mom and Prim. All of us. I took Gale here to ask him because I thought there were cameras near the fence. We were only here a short time and then he decided not to go with us. It was the only time Peeta, that he and I were here alone together. Nothing happened."  
  
He's listening, I can tell. Peeta is trying hard to master his shaking. I reach for him and he allows me to touch him. "Let's sit." Short sentences, direct commands. He drops to the ground like someone kicked his legs out.  I maneuver behind him and start massaging his shoulders and arms, all the while explaining as best I could about the propo. By now, I realized that I could not ignore Peeta's flashbacks. I needed to know exactly what they had done to him those weeks in the Capitol.  
  
Finally, after several minutes, he quiets in my arms and slumps against me, sound asleep. I lean back and Peeta falls back against my chest. I stare up at the fluffy clouds and let the tears run down my face unbidden. Why had I played with his heart? Why hadn't I just looked into myself and realized how lucky I was that Peeta loved me? Did I really want Gale? Had I ever wanted Gale? My heart answers a resounding no.  
  
I played a reckless game and Peeta had paid a stiff price. Yet remarkably, he sat at my table, joked with me, made meals for me and looked as if he wanted to kiss me. Looking back, I knew my heart had chosen him almost from the start but stupidity had gotten in the way. I really could not blame him if he walked away forever.  
  
Every torment he endured was the result of my inability to realize my own feelings and assure him they were, in fact, real, and I was probably the worst torturer of all. My hand plays with his hair, and after almost an hour, he stirs. He sits up slightly disoriented, and looks over his shoulder. "Still alive?"  
  
Not sure if he was joking or not, I sit up and move in front of him, placing myself just as I had the other day during the Nightlock episode. "Peeta listen to me," I say as I hold his gaze. "Gale and I were friends for four years, nothing more. No kisses or anything. This was not a secret meeting place, I would never have taken you here if I had memories that I shared with someone else." He's studying my face closely.  
  
"I can count on one hand the number of times I kissed Gale or he kissed me. The first time was after the games when he surprised me with a kiss. It was quick and I never kissed him back. Then I kissed him while he was unconscious. Then I …" But Peeta holds up his hand to stop me, apparently not wanting to hear other kissing tales.  
  
"But Peeta, none of the kisses were like the ones on the beach or …" My voice trails again unsure of what he remembers. "Remember the beach?" I ask hopefully, but know it was one of the memories that was probably altered beyond repair.  
  
Peeta nods. "They never used that one. Dr. Aurelius said it's probably because they felt they could not alter it because of the raw emotion." Raw emotion, I think, damn straight. "In fact, I don't think they messed with much of anything from the second arena except maybe why you shot the arrow into the force field."  
  
I reach down and take his hand. "Peeta, this is good. We need to talk about everything. Are you okay now?" I do know that returning to normal activity was a good thing for him, and I'm hoping he feels well enough to at least look around.  
  
He nods. "Want to look around a bit?" He nods again, and we untangle ourselves and stand. "Peeta," I ask for the second time in less than a week, "is it okay if I touch you?"  Again, he simply nods.  
  
We walk to the water's edge, and Peeta looks at it with interest. "I'll teach you how to swim here this summer, if you want." He looks at me and I feel his unasked questions. "I've never taught anyone to swim before. I've never swam here with anyone other than my father." He reaches for my hand, and I know I had answered his questions.  
  
After several minutes of simply staring at the lake and the trees around it, Peeta stoops down and runs his fingers through the sand. He still seems a million miles away possibly back in our second arena. "Do you …," he starts and loudly exhales. "I mean a lot has happened, but do you still have the pearl?"  
  
"Yes Peeta. It came out of the arena with me, and while you were in the Capitol, it felt like your very life, and I protected it because I felt like I could save you if I kept it safe. Later, when I went back on the mission to the Capitol, I put it in my pocket to carry with me. After you arrived and we managed to get through that first tough day, I wanted to show it to you a dozen different times. I would reach into my pocket and feel it there and be reminded of the you I thought I had lost forever. Somehow, it made it through the fire, the hospital, the assassination, the incarceration, and ended up back here with me."  
  
A sad smile creeps across his features. I pull him in close for a hug. "Oh Peeta, some day I hope I can tell you everything in my heart. I'm not good with words like you but I will try, okay? I will try." His arms tighten around me, and we stand this way for five minutes or longer.  
  
Finally, as if on cue, we release each other, and he looks at me. "The talking helps, you know. Each time I encounter one of the memories, it soothes me to hear your explanation. Kind of hard to explain, but I know when you are speaking to me, you want me to know the truth, and it's  … good." His eyes are locked on mine and I look into the beautiful pools of blue that remind me of the waters of this lake. "Katniss, I'm sorry I ruined your day. It won't …"  
  
I don't let him finish. "It's not ruined, Peeta. We can go home or stay here or whatever."  
  
Peeta looks around again, "I would like to stay. Have our picnic." I return to the basket and as I open it, I discover that he included a blanket when he packed, so I spread it on the ground. I smile that Peeta is so detail oriented, even when packing for an impromptu picnic. In fact,  he's thought of everything, and as I place it on the blanket, I marvel at the sheer feast in front of me.  
  
Ever since becoming a victor, I have felt guilt about my new found wealth. I hated the new clothes and the fact that our refrigerator was full when others still starved in spite of their monthly allowance because of our win. Still, it was always good to know that we could provide food for those in need. None of us, not Peeta or Haymitch or me, ever flaunted our wealth.  
  
Now, however, things are different. We no longer have to want because no one is wanting. We can relax and enjoy the bounty. Peeta and I were likely some of the wealthiest people in the entire country. In fact, all of the remaining seven victors were wealthy beyond belief.  
  
I look at the array of food and realize we had enough to feed a small army. "Peeta! … Peeta!" I call to him as he sits on the edge of the lake. He looks back toward me and smiles, his sketchpad in hand. I breathe a sigh of relief at how he manages to maintain a positive grip on reality even after he's slid back into the terrifying flashbacks.  
  
As he sits down, he hands me his sketchbook with a beautiful pencil drawing of the lake. My lake. My Father's lake. Peeta's lake. It's stunning. "I want to paint it when I get home. It should be in the book too, because, unless I'm mistaken, this is where Gale took everyone before they went to 13. Right?"  
  
I nod. "my book" quickly became "our book" and Peeta has added as many pages as I have. It feels right, though, another thing we are accomplishing together.  
  
After lunch, we stretch out side by side and fall asleep. We don't awaken until late afternoon. I blink several times, trying to orient myself, when I feel a soft touch tracing my jaw and trailing down my neck. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." His voice is soft and I smile.  
  
"It's okay, Peeta. I don't mind." In fact, I'm starting to wish he wouldn't stop, but all too soon he does, his hand resting on my shoulder.  
  
"You're beautiful, you know." I let out a disbelieving laugh. Even at my best at the hands of the stylists, I hardly felt beautiful. "You are!" he exclaims.  
  
I turn my head toward him and notice for perhaps the millionth time, the blueness of his eyes, the sun glinting off his blonde hair and his incredibly handsome features. My mind travels back to the evening after Annie and Finnick's wedding when he told me that I wasn't particularly pretty. This statement had been closer to the truth in my opinion, in spite of the fact that it had hurt.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." I turn back to the clouds above us.  
  
"No. Tell me, no secrets, Katniss. We can't have any."  
  
I sigh, "I was just thinking about seeing you the night after Annie and Finnick's wedding."  
  
"Oh," he knows instantly what I'm talking about. "Katniss, I was so confused. I was angry at a lot of things, myself included. I was like two people. When I wasn't having nightmares, I was dreaming such vivid dreams of you and me together aboard the train, of you and me on the rooftop, of spending days working together on your family book. Sometimes I would wake up yearning for you and then I would be assaulted with a shiny memory. Even in the early stages, I was struggling to find my way back. Back to you. I hated the things that came out of my mouth, but couldn't stop them. That's why I begged you to let me die." His eyes are filled with tears. "That wasn't me talking. I hope you won't hold it against me."  
  
"Oh Peeta, I don't hold it against you. I just feel that …" I sit up and he joins me. "I've never really understood what it was you saw in me, ever. I mean you are you."  
  
He puts an arm around my shoulder. "I wish I thought you were joking, but I know you're not. I wish you could see yourself as I see you." His voice sounds wistful. "I wasn't the only boy looking you know. I was probably just the furthest gone." He chuckles slightly. "But so many boys were looking at you. You just never gave anyone the opportunity, you know. Now you just have to trust me, you are beautiful." He kisses the side of my forehead.  
  
It's the first time he's kissed me in a romantic way since that kiss in the Capitol when I thought he would surely kill me. I feel the warmth spread through me. It's familiar yet foreign. A part of me — a big part of me — wants to turn my head and kiss him, but I'm afraid of pressing too hard. So instead, we sit in companionable silence.  
  
We eat a small supper, and Peeta begins to gather the leftovers into the basket. It's just past the middle of April and the sun will be setting soon.  
  
"Let's stay and watch the sunset," I suggest. "I've never seen it set here before." It was true. As a child, my father and I left long before the supper hour so as not to worry Mom. While I had traveled here on my own through the years, I never wanted to stay later, again for Mom's sake. Now, there's no Mom waiting for me back home.  
  
Peeta nods, and we walk back to the shoreline.  
  
"Have you ever fished?" I nod.  
  
"Will you teach me? I remember reading it in a book when I was little. I would like to try it." From the start, Peeta had never struck me as much of an outdoorsman, but I was beginning to realize it had more to do with lack of opportunity than lack of interest.  
  
"Next time we come here, we'll bring my Dad's fishing box, and we'll fish." Peeta looks to me and smiles  
  
As the sun continues its path across the sky, the temperature begins to drop noticeably and I begin to wish I had brought the hunting jacket with me. Our conversation drifts to school days by this point, and without breaking conversation, Peeta moves behind me and draws the blanket up around us. I can't suppress the shiver which runs through me, not because of the cool temperature but by the close proximity of Peeta.  
  
His breath is warm against my neck, and his hands move up and down my arms under the blanket. I lean back into him and eventually, he entwines our hands together. I crave his closeness.  
  
The sky is beginning to show the first color changes of sunset. Within minutes, the sun is a brilliant orange-red fireball set in a backdrop of muted oranges, pinks and purples. It reflects against the still surface of the lake, and makes it one of the most beautiful I can ever recall. Behind me, Peeta gasps slightly and his hands grip mine a little tighter. "It's gorgeous!" he breathes.  
  
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if he's trying to capture it now to paint later.  
  
"Can you … will you get up and stand for a moment?" His voice is quiet, but I'm on my feet immediately, thinking that I've hurt him somehow. He sees the panic, "No, I'm fine, just stand there for a minute, I want to see something." And so I stand, my head turned back toward the sunset. "Perfect … absolutely perfect." I stand until the sun has set and then Peeta joins me.  
  
"Thank you," he says, his arms engulfing me and pulling me close. "Thank you for sharing your lake and your sunset with me."  
  
"Our lake …" I correct gently, as he pulls me forward and kisses me lightly on the mouth. I'm desperate to deepen the kiss, but fear of rejection makes me accept what is offered. We walk back hand and hand, aided by the light of the full moon.  
  
As we cross back under the fence, we remember Haymitch, and decide to check in on him again. He's apparently roused himself at some point during the day — fresh vomit stains the floor by the sink. Haymitch's shirt is undone. In a well practiced move, Peeta removes the knife from his grip, and moves to the stove to push the coffee pot into place. We stand quietly waiting for it to boil.  
  
Once the coffee is almost done, Peeta goes back behind Haymitch and places both hands on his shoulders and gently wakes him up by pressing straight down. I'm surprised at the technique Peeta has developed. My way was usually abrupt and forceful, whereas Haymitch appears to be awakening rather sane with Peeta's method.  
  
Peeta steps back and pours a cup of pitch black coffee and sets it beside him as Haymitch gets his bearings.  
  
"Hello Sweetheart," he croaks, as his eyes focus on me. "Brought the girl with you this time, I see." Apparently Peeta has been a regular visitor to Haymitch, whereas I have been keeping my distance since we arrived back in 12. "So, what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"  
  
"Just checking in to make sure you are doing fine," Peeta says.  
  
Haymitch is still focussed on me, his eyes narrow and puzzled. "I'm fine. Never better."  
  
"Good," I say, finally speaking. "I'm glad you are. Maybe you would join us for supper some night." I honestly don't know how he's managed to retain any weight at all. The sheer number of bottles strewn around suggests that he's more often drunk than not.  
  
"Supper? With you two? What's the catch?"  
  
"No catch," I say, "just thinking you could use a hot meal at some point."  
  
"Are you two … you know, ummm … ," Haymitch seems at a loss for words.  
  
"We spend a lot of time together," Peeta says without disclosing that we are practically living together. He's slicing some bread from a loaf on the counter, and brings it to Haymitch along with some dark syrup from the cupboard.  
  
I begin to gather the empty bottles and grab a grungy mop from the corner and rinse it under the faucet before running it across the floor. I find some disinfectant in the closet and pour a generous amount on the mop making all of our eyes water, but in the end the room smells cleaner. Peeta has joined in the cleaning efforts by gathering the soiled clothes that lay scattered around. Haymitch eats silently, watching us work.  
  
Ever since watching Haymitch's games on the train and later hearing his story in 13, I have come to understand more why he drowns himself in white liquor — why he is so bitter and generally unhappy. In my heart, I know that if Peeta had not returned to 12, I might soon have joined him in his journeys to the bottom of the liquor bottles. Haymitch lost everything.  
  
As we ready to leave, Haymitch finally speaks again. "Don't be strangers, now … I'll be over to supper soon."  
  
Peeta and I walk across the street to our house. I smile slightly with the realization that I no longer consider it just "my" house.  



	6. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and setting belong to Suzanne Collins.

I wake and stretch my toes under the covers. In the immortal words of Effie, "It's going to be a big, BIG day!"  
  
After Prim died, I never expected to feel joy or happiness or excitement ever again. But time does heal and having Peeta nearby is a tonic. Peeta understands my pain better than any and he encourages me to remember Prim and my father. Oftentimes, we find ourselves sharing stories with one another. I've gotten to know his family through his stories. We share our laughter and our tears, and afterward, I feel a little lighter.  
  
I understand now that, while I won't ever forget Prim, and there will be times when I still grieve, she would not want me to cease living. That's why today seems to be sort of a new beginning — it's Peeta's eighteenth birthday!  
  
Haymitch gave me the exact date and ever since, I have kind of been in a whirlwind making preparations. I called Effie and asked for some very specific items. I wanted to get him something for all aspects of his life. So, I have something for his baking, painting and gardening endeavors, but I'm most excited about the things I'm giving him for our hunting and gathering expeditions.  
  
I take a moment to look out the window and realize that the sky is still mostly dark but there's a sliver of light on the horizon. I probably could lay here awhile longer but I don't want to risk falling asleep. Peeta still sleeps soundly and for that I'm grateful. Sae will be arriving shortly to help me with breakfast and, if Peeta remains in bed long enough, he will be served here.  
  
Slowly I disentangle our limbs, making sure that I don't wake him. He smacks his lips slightly and pats the mattress where I would normally be sleeping. He half frowns in his sleep, which nearly makes me giggle. In just a short while, we have become so accustomed to sleeping with one another that, even in his sleep, he's aware something is amiss.  
  
I hurry into the bathroom and ready myself for the day. As I look in the mirror, I see an expression that I believed to be lost forever — contentment. Ever since our trip to the lake, Peeta and I have grown closer. We have indulged in more than a few make-out sessions which have left us breathless and panting. Last night, we engaged in some mutual exploration as our kisses became heated. I'm beginning to understand the attraction of it all but am secretly glad that Peeta is the one opening my eyes to the wonders of it all.  
  
As I finish in the bathroom, I return to the bedroom and once again make sure that he is sleeping before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Yesterday, I bought some blueberries from the train because our wild ones won't be ready until later in the summer. I'm planning on blueberry pancakes with applewood bacon, and eggs sunny-side up just as he likes — a feast by old District 12 standards.  
  
Just as I get the ingredients together, I hear the screen door open, and Sae and Sadie walk in. "My goodness girl, you're up early," Sae whispers. I nod to her and wave to Sadie who is holding the squirming brown puppy we saw awhile back. "Sadie wants Peeta to have her. Hope it's okay." I smile and nod again, knowing that the Peeta will welcome the new addition. "She's not quite ready to go but Sadie wanted to bring her with this morning."  
  
We settle into a routine and make enough food for all of us. I know Peeta would want to share his birthday breakfast, and so I invite Sae and Sadie upstairs with me. It doesn't occur to me that I left Peeta sleeping in just his boxers until I push the door open and call out "Happy Birthday!" Peeta stirs sleepily and lifts his head, a broad grin spreading as he lifts himself from the mattress.  
  
At that moment, I hear a soft squeak behind me and turn in time to see Sadie blushing furiously and covering her eyes with her hand. Sae is chuckling, her eyes twinkling.  
  
"Oh sorry," Peeta apologizes as only he would. "Umm. Katniss, my t-shirt?"  
  
"Oh," I say and set the tray down on the bed, and quickly head to the bathroom where I took it off. It's become customary that when he slips out of his shirt, I slip into it. I return and hand it to him and he promptly pulls it on with a grateful smile.  
  
"You can look again, Sadie. I'm decent." She parts her fingers slightly. Once assured, she drops her hand, her cheeks still crimson.  
  
She beams at Peeta and quickly presents him with the puppy. "Happy Birthday!" she squeals. Peeta looks surprised but happy as he gingerly takes the puppy from her and cuddles her close.  
  
"Thank you," he says sincerely. "Does she have a name?"  
  
"I-I-I-I c-c-call her 'Girl.'"  
  
"That's a good name," Peeta concurs.  
  
"I … she n-n-needs a s-special n-name," Sadie looks at Peeta worriedly.  
  
"Oh right," Peeta is serious as he holds her up and looks at her sharp brown eyes. "She looks like chocolate, but I don't think that's a good name. What do you think, Katniss? She'll likely be heading into the woods with you." I smile at the thought that Peeta wants to make her a hunting dog. I'm not sure but I'll try.  
  
"How about Cocoa? You know like hot chocolate."  
  
"Yes!" Sadie exclaims loudly, attracting the attention of the puppy.  
  
"What do you think, little girl? Are you Cocoa?" The puppy reaches out its tiny pink tongue and swipes it across Peeta's nose and then lets out a few happy yaps, sending Buttercup hissing from the end of the bed.  
  
"Good girl,"I lean forward and tickle her ears, and everyone laughs.  
  
I pass out the food-laden plates, and Peeta digs right in exclaiming about the texture of the pancakes and the fact that his eggs are done to perfection. Buttercup makes his way back to the bed where the newly christened Cocoa is holding court. She spies Buttercup and makes her way to him, and is greeted by a loud hiss-growl which sends her whimpering back to Peeta. Everyone laughs.  
  
Sae has always been the best source of District 12 gossip, and even though much has changed, that fact has not. She tells us that by her estimates, about six hundred people returned from District 13 so far. She mentions that Ripper is back and already protesting the plans for the new hob. She assures us that it's just Ripper's way, but she's also concerned about the lack of law enforcement and the fact that her still is already a big attraction. She also talks about all the new families moving in. Some are interested in rebuilding the district, but others are trying to stake their claim on the reparation payments that are rumored to be coming our way.  
  
Peeta, who is more visible, has heard some of these same things, and says that we need to reestablish the government as soon as possible. Sae tells him that he should be our new mayor, but Peeta demurs telling her he just wants to live a normal life. I'm happy for this as that's the life I want as well. Sae nods, and I can tell she's thrown it out there with a hope, but will never push him to something he doesn't want.  
  
"Thom, though, now he's a good man," Peeta says after some thought. "I would gladly vote for a man like him." I nod and Sae looks thoughtful. "Also, Sae, I would endorse you for Mayor too."  
  
"Oh no! No! No!"  
  
"Come on, Sae, we need someone with wisdom and knowledge of our district. Someone with business sense, and the more I think of it, the more I like the idea of it. I will gladly help in anyway I can." She's flustered now.  
  
Eventually, the conversation dies down and Sae moves to leave. "Happy Birthday, Peeta. I wish you long life and happiness." Her birthday wish causes tears to glisten in my eyes as I look at Peeta, whose very life has been turned upside down and inside out this last year, and his eyes are filled with tears as well, but his smile is absolutely radiant as the sun.  
  
"Thank you, Sae, so much," Peeta says, "and keep what I said in mind. I'm going to muster up support for it." She blushes and waves him off, and then catches my eye on the way out. She will return in the afternoon to make supper for us. She pulls the door shut behind her.  
  
"Well … this was a surprise," Peeta says shyly. "Didn't think you knew."  
  
"I … uh … remembered during training last year, your dad brought something for your birthday." Peeta looks confused for a moment. He's lost so many memories as a result of the torture. He chooses not to pursue it though. I don't think he wants to look backward today.  
  
"Come here," he says, pulling me by the hand into bed. "Too bad you're already dressed," as he wags his eyebrows at me playfully. I lean forward and kiss him, wrapping my arms around his neck. As the kiss deepens, Peeta moves his hands to the front of my shirt and lightly stroke my breasts. Our recent explorations have been tentative, and I don't want to push him too hard, but he definitely has a knack for leaving me wanting.  
  
All too soon, he pulls back and rests his forehead on mine. "I think I kind of scared poor Sadie this morning," he chuckles mostly to himself.  
  
"I don't think she's ever seen a guy without a shirt," I suggest. Fact of the matter is, I had blushed my way through the first time of seeing Peeta shirtless on the train. Sure, I had stripped him in the arena but it was clinical then. "Peeta?"  
  
"Hmmm?" his eyes flutter open.  
  
"I have some presents for you to open now."  
  
"Presents? You didn't have to get me anything." But he was clearly excited.  
  
I walk to the closet and bring out four presents that Effie sent. I was pleased that she was able to find exactly what I wanted. Peeta opens the first gift and hoots loudly. "A palette! I've always wanted one of these!" Peeta uses a plain board to mix his paints and I remembered during an interview, he mentioned that he wanted a professional palette.  
  
The next gift is a set of acrylics that he was thinking about buying himself a few weeks ago. Next, he opens a wrap-around shirt that he can wear over his other clothes when he paints. It was my idea because so many of his shirts are stained with paint.  
  
Finally, he opens the last gift which is a recording of a song written in the 20th century and re-recorded in the 21st century. A few weeks ago, Peeta told me that Dr. Aurelius used to play it for him and he loved it and wanted a copy of it. Tears come to his eyes as he leaps from the bed and pulls his pants on. "Come on Katniss, you need to hear this." We could listen to it anywhere in the house but we're rushing downstairs to the living room where he plugs it into the wall system, and suddenly the room is filled with music.  
  
The deep voice of a male singer named Josh Groban begins:  
  
 _Starry, starry night_  
 _Paint your palette blue and grey_  
 _Look out on a summer's day_  
 _With eyes that know the darkness in my soul_  
 _Shadows on the hills_  
 _Sketch the trees and daffodils_  
 _Catch the breeze and the winter chills_  
 _In colors on the snowy linen land_  
  
 _Now I understand_  
 _What you tried to say to me_  
 _And how you suffered for your sanity_  
 _And how you tried to set them free_  
 _They would not listen_  
 _They did not know how_  
 _Perhaps they'll listen now_  
  
As I listen to the words, I can hardly breathe. Tears are coursing down my face, and I look to Peeta who's on his knees, his hands covering his face. I want to stop the song, but I also need to hear it. I need to know exactly how this touched Peeta.  
  
 _Starry, starry night_  
 _Flaming flowers that brightly blaze_  
 _Swirling clouds and violet haze_  
 _Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue_  
 _Colors changing hue_  
 _Morning fields of amber grain_  
 _Weathered faces lined in pain_  
 _Are soothed beneath the artists' loving hand_  
  
 _Now I understand_  
 _What you tried to say to me_  
 _And how you suffered for your sanity_  
 _And how you tried to set them free_  
 _They would not listen_  
 _They did not know how_  
 _Perhaps they'll listen now_  
  
Each line cuts me. This is Peeta. This is his song.  
  
 _For they could not love you_  
 _But still your love was true_  
 _And when no hope was left inside_  
 _On that starry, starry night_  
 _You took your life as lovers often do_  
 _But I could have told you Vincent_  
 _This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you_  
  
 _Like the strangers that you've met_  
 _The ragged men in ragged clothes_  
 _The silver thorn of bloody rose_  
 _Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow_  
  
 _Now I think I know_  
 _What you tried to say to me_  
 _And how you suffered for your sanity_  
 _And how you tried to set them free_  
 _They would not listen_  
 _They're not listening still_  
 _Perhaps they never will..._  
  
The song ends and silence, broken only by light sobbing, reigns. It's a beautiful song. I feel compelled to say it but Peeta speaks first, "Last winter, I was really struggling. I couldn't remember things that happened before. I couldn't remember my father's face or the timbre of my mother's voice. I couldn't remember that first day of kindergarten."  
  
He inhales deeply. "Not being able to remember and then not being able to sift what was real and what was not real made me feel … I guess it made me feel like I was insane or maybe not quite right. It scared me. I thought I would never feel normal again." He's crying openly now, and I move to the floor to hold him.  
  
"Then one day, Dr. Aurelius told me the story of this artist named Vincent Van Gogh. He played this song, and from the first, it touched me and I felt like it was written just for me. He played it over and over again, and it opened a floodgate. I started to paint and it seemed like my brush had a mind of its own. I painted my dad without a thought, standing behind the counter. I painted my brothers, my friends … but mostly, I painted you. It was a catalyst, Katniss. Thank you so much for giving it back to me."  
  
"You sure it's okay? Not too much?"  
  
"No. I just hadn't heard it in so long. I tell you what though, I would love to hear you sing it sometime?" He winks at me, and I just shake my head.  
  
"Go shower and change and come back here. There's more presents that I can guarantee won't cause so many tears." His eyes are full of questions, as he heads out the door.  
  
I move quickly to the kitchen and pull the cake Sae and I made yesterday, out of the freezer. We're just doing a simple frosting, but I hope he will like it. Next, I pack the picnic basket and pull out the third round of presents and place them in my game bag. We're going to a different area today with an excellent view of the surrounding mountains. I know he will love it.  
  
Peeta is back in record time. A smile plays on his lips as he meets me in the kitchen. "Sit down."  
  
He grins, "A tad bossy considering it's my birthday." I hand him a stack of presents. "Katniss, this too much."  
  
"Making up for previous years." These aren't extravagant, just essential: gardening gloves, hand tools, and a book on gardening. The last gift brings a happy laugh as he unwraps the first of six apple trees.  
  
Peeta is too excited to wait, and heads outside with his new gloves on and finds a shovel, promptly planting all six. I fetch some water and follow behind, saturating the ground. He stands back to survey his work and seems satisfied.  
  
"Done?" He nods. "All right then, we are going for a walk." My game bag is heavy with presents and Peeta stares at it but says nothing as he takes the basket. We take the familiar path to the fence line, and I shift the bag on my shoulder after we've climbed underneath.  
  
"I can take it for you." I shake my head and grab his hand. It takes about a half hour, but when we arrive, the view takes his breath away.  
  
"This is incredible, Katniss. You never cease to amaze me." He grabs for his sketchbook and settles in. I let him draw for a bit as I set out the lunch.  
  
"Peeta?" He looks over his shoulder and puts his sketchbook down.  
  
"Before we eat, here," I say as I reach into my game bag and pull out the first package. He shakes his head, but a small smile creeps across his face as he takes it from me. He unwraps the leather gloves, soft and supple and tries them on. They fit perfectly. I'm not sure how Effie managed that feat, but I'm pleased because in looks and feel, they are exactly what I wanted.  
  
The next box contains his own "game bag" except it's made for carrying roots and berries and is much handsomer than mine with a shoulder strap and a waterproof lining. He slings it over his head and it drapes perfectly to his side where he can access it easily.  
  
Yesterday, I arrived to hide two presents here. I debate whether to give him clues or simply present them. He looks so comfortable that I decide to present them to him. The packages are larger. One is light, and the other is heavy. The first is a slouch hat, similar to what my dad wore hunting. Made of leather, its brim is dipped in front and back, and when he puts it on, he looks very handsome.  
  
The second contains a pair of boots made for hiking and he exclaims over them. They look similar to the ones I'm wearing that were a gift from Cinna. Since the terrain is rugged, I feel much better with Peeta having good boots to make the trek.  
  
I pull another package from my bag and hand it to him. This box is smaller and contains a camera. I'm not sure how he will receive it, but he looks at me in wonder. None of the District 12 cameras were ever this fancy. "My dad always said he wished he had a camera with him out here."  
  
"Yes, I know how he felt." Peeta's running his hand over the smooth finish and then flips it on and looks at me with a devilish smile. "You'll never escape the camera now, Miss Everdeen." With that, he snaps a picture of me. So surprised, I don't even flinch. Peeta is up and snapping photos all around: a squirrel, the mountains, right into the sun, our picnic, the basket, and on and on.  
  
Only one present remains inside the bag. I had spent a great deal of time considering this present before deciding to give it to him but it feels right. After he's settled beside me, I feel a few words of explanation are in order before revealing it.  
  
"Peeta, this last present is one that comes straight from my heart. It belonged to one of the greatest men I knew, and for the longest time, the greatest man I knew. I think that my feelings toward him were a big part of why I never wanted a relationship with any boy. I never believed that there was someone out there who was on the same level as my dad." I inhale shakily.  
  
"But looking back, I realize that you are on the same level and have been since we were eleven. You have that same goodness he had. That same willingness to look beyond the surface to see what's inside. That same desire to do what's right, even if you are hurt in the process." Peeta's eyes are searching mine now with such earnestness.  
  
"For a long time, I needed this to feel his strength. To feel like he was still near me. But I don't need it anymore. Not when you are near, and it's time that someone wears it who will truly fit it." I pull it out of the bag, and Peeta gasps. My father's coat.  
  
"Are you … sure?" I nod. His hands are trembling when he takes it from me and slips it on. The fit is perfect, and I should have known. It's almost as if I feel my father standing by, nodding his approval, as I take in the coat on Peeta. It's worn, not new by any stretch of the imagination, but he's looking at it as if it was made of spun gold. My breath catches.  
  
"I may borrow it from time to time," I grin at him. "But it will be not because it's my fathers coat, but yours."  
  
He moves toward me and kisses me passionately. His voice is husky as he says, "I'm honored Katniss that you have given it to me and I will wear it with pride and the knowledge that I have a high standard to meet."  
  
"You met that long ago." He kisses me again and then leans back, staring at the clouds. "May I?" I ask as I reach for the camera. He nods and I take a picture of him. We view it, and he smiles, the look on his face is pure contentment. Peeta is part of my world. A part that I never knew was missing, but now realize would never be complete without him.  
  
We eat our lunch and even though it's warm, he doesn't take off the jacket. We stay in the woods, and he forages while I hunt. Cinna had made a replica of my father's jacket for me in my size, and I put it on. Peeta pulls me tight and whispers, "Whatever will I do for your birthday, Miss Everdeen?" I look at the playful smile on his face. "Seems that all my ideas up till now are trivial. You set a pretty high bar when it comes to presents."  
  
"Peeta, really, I don't need anything. I haven't celebrated since I was eleven." He nods in understanding.  
  
"Well, Katniss, prepare yourself to celebrate this year." I shake my head, but a smile plays on my lips. I should have known that Peeta would be thinking of a way to return this to me.  
  
I check the sun's passage and realize it's close to supper time. Sae and Sadie will be there, but so will Haymitch, Thom and Graham. Just a small celebration. We head back out of the woods. Peeta walks beside me with a confident swagger that I have never seen before. He's proud of his hunting clothes. I smile at the way his curls hang low under the hat.  
  
"I think I could use a haircut," he says as if reading my mind.  
  
"Not sure we have a barber around yet."  
  
"I believe you could do it if you wanted."  
  
I'm far less sure but am amazed that the level of trust between us has risen to this point. "I might be persuaded to try — especially now that you have a hat to cover your head." Peeta's laugh is like music to me.  
  
We enter the house through the back door and Peeta is pleased to see the small gathering. Haymitch makes his way over and slaps him on the back. "Happy Birthday, boy!"  
  
"Thanks, Haymitch." Peeta reaches out and grips his hand tightly. There's so much that could be said, but they both leave it there. I'm sure last year neither of them expected Peeta to see another birthday. I don't think I gave it much thought as I never intended to see my next birthday.  
  
Thom and Graham greet Peeta with quiet birthday wishes. We move to the dining room table. Sae has outdone herself. There's roast and mashed potatoes, gravy, two kinds of vegetables, and some hard but tasty little biscuits that were always a staple in the Seam. Everyone digs right in. The flush of Peeta's cheeks and the omnipresent smile makes everything worthwhile.  
  
Sae brings out the cake which looks surprisingly good. "I thought I smelled cake baking yesterday!" He eyes me with a smile.  
  
"Well, it was my one partial contribution to the meal. Sae frosted it today."  
  
Peeta announces that the cake is the best he's eaten, even though it seems a bit dry to me. Everyone seems to enjoy it though and that's what matters. After we finish, I begin clearing the table, but Peeta ushers me to the living room saying we will do them later.  
  
Cocoa is back for the evening. She makes her way around to each person, sniffing and yapping. Thom picks her up and nuzzles her close, revealing that he's spoken for her brother who is the largest in the litter. Graham, likewise holds her and talks to her, and is rewarded with a tongue washing.  
  
She pauses in front of Haymitch, who stomps his foot at her eliciting a small growl. "Just what the neighborhood needs, a smart ass dog. You better keep her away from geese," he growls.  
  
"Geese?" Peeta and I say in unison.  
  
"That's right. Geese. I'm going to be a gentleman farmer," he announces humorlessly.  
  
"Well, that should be interesting," Peeta says.  
  
"Seems oddly appropriate. You're both loud and annoying," I say.  
  
"Humph … you, Sweetheart, and that little ankle biter are … ."  
  
But he doesn't get to finish. "I have a birthday wish. I wish you two would get along for just one day," Peeta interjects with a teasing smile. Haymitch's scowl mirrors mine, and everyone laughs. The puppy moves over to me and climbs into my lap and settles down. "I told you she was going to be your dog." I roll her to her back and rub her tummy as she squeezes her eyes shut. A puppy wouldn't be such a bad addition to my hunting trips I silently reason.  
  
Haymitch is the first to give Peeta his present. No surprise, he hands him a bottle of Capitol quality white liquor. Outside of wine in the Capitol, I'm pretty certain Peeta has never drank, but he thanks him anyway. I suppose to Haymitch a bottle of liquor is the ultimate gift.  
  
Thom hands him a carpenter's apron and brand new hammer, while Graham gives him a level that belonged to his grandfather. Peeta is touched with their generosity. When he's not with me, Peeta's working on one building project or another. He's single-handedly supplied most of the building materials for the district but these gifts are more meaningful than if they had handed him a sackful of coins.  
  
"I'm glad you are here tonight. This morning Sae brought it to my attention that we need some law and order here before things get too far out of hand. I believe that we should hold an election, and I've been thinking who I would like to see run for some of the positions." Everyone is silent now as they wait for Peeta to finish.  
  
"I believe that Sae should run as mayor." Thom and Graham nod in agreement.  
  
"Peeta, now wait here. I've got no experience running a town."  
  
But Peeta holds his hand up for silence. "Sae, you are a longtime resident of this district. A successful business woman with a good head on your shoulders. You're well respected. There's no one better, in my opinion." Sae appears embarrassed but chooses not to argue. "Thom, I think we could use our own form of law enforcement. I don't think any of us want a return to the Peacekeepers."  
  
Thom shakes his head, "Nope. We don't want that back again. So what are you thinking?"  
  
I feel a surge of pride for Peeta. He's young, but people defer to him without a second thought. "I think we need to establish a council. Set up positions, and hold elections. I think we need our own law enforcement, and I think you would be the ideal candidate."  
  
The talk continues for several minutes. Haymitch sits back and listens but says nothing. I notice the way he periodically narrows his eyes and is thinking, but still no words come. I'm wondering what he's thinking, finally he asks, "You sure you want to get involved in politics, boy?"  
  
"I'm not getting involved, Haymitch. I'm facilitating the process." Haymitch lets out a loud guffaw, and stands to his feet.  
  
"Because it's your birthday, I'm not gonna argue with you." He leaves, but he's really dampened everyone's spirits. I don't know exactly what is bothering him. Peeta looks at me with a frown and our other guests shift uncomfortably.  
  
Soon the rest of our guests leave and Peeta and I begin cleaning up the dishes. He's still in a good mood, which I'm happy for.  He's going through his gifts and thanking me individually for each one.  
  
"I was already making plans for your birthday next week, but now I know that I have to step it up a notch."  
  
"No, Peeta. I wanted to do this just for you. I couldn't make up my mind so that's why you got several presents. Besides, except for Prim, I've never really gotten to buy presents and I was enjoying telling Effie everything that I wanted for you. She picked it all out."  
  
"Yes, but I know you gave her explicit instructions or my bag would have come decorated with rubies or something, and the hat would have had edging made of gold or some sort of thing. Every gift has you written all over it." He leans in for a kiss.  "Every day, Katniss, I feel closer to you … like we are really moving forward."  
  
"I agree, Peeta. We are finally able to just live our lives and go where it takes us." He nods. "Now for your last round of gifts."  
  
"What? No, Katniss. It's really too much."  
  
"No, it isn't. I've missed seventeen birthdays, and you will receive eighteen presents." I pass him the first box that contains a leather binder for recipes along with cards to write them down as he goes. The next is a set of decorating tools that Effie called state-of-the-art. The third is a special turntable to hold a large cake while frosting it, and finally an apron that she included that says, "Kiss the Cook." He smiles widely, and tells me that he intends to wear it everyday to see how well it works out for him.  
  
"Tell me what you want, Katniss," his voice is plaintive.  
  
"I want a painting of that picture I took of you today in your new hunting gear."  
  
"Done. What else?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
"No. I want you to tell me anything and everything."  
  
"Let me think. No promises though, okay?" He nods.  
  
"How about a haircut?" he asks. I grimace but actually, I'm a bit excited. I find the scissors that Mom always used on Prim and I. As I pull it and the old sheet from the drawer, I'm hit with the memory of one of the last haircuts Prim received in this kitchen. She wanted something more modern, but Mom cut it the same way she always did. I shake my head to rid myself of the image or I will be lost in the memory.  
  
Peeta sits on a chair in the middle of the floor with the sheet over him, as I go to work. At first I promise myself only a quarter of an inch. I love his hair, but he wants it short for summer. It takes the better part of an hour but finally it's done, and Peeta looks in the mirror and nods his head, smiling. "Perfect! I knew you could do it." There's still curls left but they are cropped shorter and the sides are over his ears. The neckline is trimmed and shaved. If anything, he looks more handsome.  
  
I glance at my hair and wish that there was something that could be done. The damage from the fire and lack of good diet has left its impression, and my normally thick hair is thin and uneven, although it has improved dramatically the past several weeks.  
  
"Do you want me to try?" he asks, his voice gentle, and I'm ready. However, he cuts it will be an improvement.  
  
Peeta proves to be an adept stylist as he cuts my hair, removing the damaged ends and leaving my hair layered and barely touching my shoulders. The cut makes it look fuller, more thick, and I like it. After seeing it down, he then pulls it back, successfully making a small braid.  
  
He kisses me lightly but as he draws back, his eyes are a smoldering blue. "Let's go to bed," his voice is almost a whisper and I wonder if tonight might be the night we cross the threshold. What ensues, however, is our most intense make out session to date. The fire burns deep in me. Peeta touches me and I get braver about touching him. Our hips bump as we seek the friction our bodies desire but in the end, Peeta pushes me back with a languid kiss and situates himself to sleep.  
  
I lay awake wishing he would remember. Remember everything that happened between us but I'm afraid too because I don't know whether the training room had cameras. I suspect after being held captive there that it did, but I don't know for sure. I don't know how or whether those memories were altered and so I don't push. Instead, I try to quell the thrumming between my thighs and go to sleep. I try.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) - Josh Groban, 2001 (Don McLean)


	7. Moving Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and setting belong to Suzanne Collins.

I'm carefully applying the lotion that was sent from the Capitol to assist with diminishing the scarring. After just a few weeks the patches feel smoother, and the scarring seems somewhat diminished. The problem is not the new skin, but rather the old skin which had been damaged but not considered unsalvageable. But there is noticeable improvement.  
  
I smile slightly as I stand peering at the reflection in the mirror end of day. It was, in the words of the immortal Effie Trinket, "Another big, big day" in our lives.  
  
Last night, Peeta and I arrived home later than anticipated after a day spent cleaning out another block of buildings in what was the merchant section. Both of us were exhausted, and literally fell face forward on to the mattress, sound asleep in seconds.  
  
For the first time in I don't know how long, my dreams took me to happy places. I dreamed of Peeta standing in his bakery decorating cakes, a broad smile on his face while he looked at me. As the dream progressed, we kissed and as the kiss deepened, Peeta's hands roamed over my body. Eventually, we were removing our clothing quickly with such haste that buttons were popping and fabric was tearing.  
  
I must have called out in my sleep, because I awoke out-of-breath with Peeta's arms gripping me tightly, whispering softly in my ear. As realization hit me and the remnants of the dream receded, I blushed so furiously that Peeta, whose hand was brushing my face, stopped and asked if I had a fever.  
  
"N-n-no." I stammered, trying to catch my breath. Without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed him, soft at first but increasingly deeper. Peeta, for his part, quickly responded, his hands tangling in my hair. The kiss reminded me of those on the beach during the Quell. I remembered how Peeta's tongue had slipped in tentatively and back out quickly, and how the sensation left me wanting more so I had slid my tongue into his mouth. I had no idea what I was doing at the time, but knew that it was igniting a fire within me.  
  
Rooming with Jo had been "enlightening" as she described everything from what she called "French kissing" to "69" to "fucking." I didn't tell her then that I had experimented with French kissing and even sex, but I had listened with attention as she described the ins and outs to me. Even though Peeta and I had been making out with more frequency lately, we had confined ourselves to normal kissing and light touches.  
  
Now I put some of Jo's knowledge to use, as I tentatively licked his lower lip. Peeta was surprised but opened his mouth. Our tongues met in a battle somewhere in the middle, and soon Peeta was rolling me to my back, and nudging my knees apart. His hand drifted to my chest, and I could feel his swelling at the juncture of my thighs. It wasn't the first time, and I raised my hips to meet him and ground my hips against him as he continued to grow.  
  
"Oh Peeta," I moaned breathlessly, as his kisses were moving down my neck.  
  
Peeta pulled back slightly and began to untangle himself from me. "Umm. I better get over to my house and shower."  
  
I was stunned, frankly, and did not want Peeta to go. I still had no idea what he remembered of our moments hidden from the cameras. "Wait!" Peeta stopped, sitting on the edge of our bed. "Lay back down." He hesitated only a moment before complying, trying to hide the bulge in his pants. "Peeta, I think it's time you just move in here, permanently." My declaration surprised me but I found that I meant it.  
  
"Move in?" he looked at me quickly, momentarily forgetting his discomfiture with his erection.  
  
"Yes, Peeta, move in here. I know why you hurry out of bed each morning. It's the same thing as on the train. Don't worry about it." He studied my face, and slowly relaxed. "It's natural, isn't it?" He nodded. "Well, then, it's not a big deal. Or it is a big deal, but not in that way." Again the words slipped out surprising me. Peeta blushed but smiled.  
  
"I'm serious though, I want you to move in. Bring your clothes, and your paints and everything that you want. This is your home too. Our home."  
  
Peeta looked away for a moment, and I almost thought he was going to refuse, but when he looked back, his eyes were glistening with tears. He moved back to me, and kissed me gently. "I think I'm falling in love." His statement caught me by surprise, and I choked out a sob as tears stung my eyes. Maybe this is what needed to happen, to fall in love with me. But then he finished, "All over again …" and we kissed again, and began an intense make out session that left us both gasping, hungry for more but not quite willing to move forward.  
  
As we lay panting, Peeta looked at me and finally said, "Well, Miss Everdeen, show me where you want my clothes." I looked around the room, my room, at its rather cramped confines, and then I remembered the vacant master bedroom at the end of the hall. The one that felt like it belonged to a couple rather than just the owner of the house.  
  
"Come with me," I said, launching myself out of the bed, through the door and down the hall with Peeta right behind me. I stopped at the doors leading to the room which I had only glanced in before. Suddenly shy, I hesitated, my hand on the door knob. Then I felt Peeta's hand on my shoulder, and everything seemed right. I turned the knob and we walked in to "our" room.  
  
The carpet's plush and deep, a dark burgundy. An unused fireplace is set to one side with a small couch in front. French doors lead to the balcony, and I can imagine them open on a summer's night, letting the breeze fill the room. There are twin dressers, side by side, that stand as tall as me. The bed is huge with a canopy overhead. Doorways on either side of the bed lead back to the master bath. A large walk-in closet is located between the two halls with access from each hallway.  
  
Peeta and I explored the room which is nearly as large as my old house in the Seam. We moved down one of the halls and opened the many doors on the closet where there's shelving and shoe racks and coat hangers aplenty in the large space. We arrived in the bathroom which I had never laid on eyes on before. To our right is a deep, round tub with gold fixtures. Behind us, a double shower with knobs and buttons similar to those in the training facility. In front were double sinks, and a wall of mirrors. To the left, a dressing area with small round lights surrounding it.  
  
Neither of us had spoken, but Peeta was holding my hand, and now squeezed it. This suite was so unlike 12 in anyway, yet somehow, it felt right to be there. We returned to the bedroom, and Peeta whispered, "We could get used to this." He kissed my cheek lightly, and I knew we could.  
  
We returned to my room, and quickly changed clothes for the day ahead. We headed downstairs for a quick breakfast and made plans for the day. First, we would move my clothes from my old room into the new room. Then, we would head to Peeta's and begin moving his clothes. Finally, we would tackle the painting supplies and canvases.  
  
"Where can we put them? I mean at my place, I just use the living room, but we will probably want to keep that a living room here."  
  
I thought for a moment and then remembered the room upstairs at the opposite end of the hall from the master bedroom. What had Effie called it? Conservatory? It was large and open with skylights in the ceiling. Until now, I had considered it a dreadful waste of space. "How about the conservatory?"  
  
"The what?" Peeta asked, and for a second, I thought I had gotten the name wrong.  
  
"Ummm. … Maybe that's not what it's called. The room upstairs opposite the master bedroom." Peeta's eyebrows shot up and I looked at him questioningly.  
  
"Show me."  
  
We headed up the back stairs which lead directly to the room. I pushed ahead and opened the door and stood back, Peeta moved past me and looked in awe at the vast empty room. He paced to the middle of the floor, his eyes scanning the walls and the ceiling. I was surprised by his reaction. Certainly he must have something similar?  
  
The room was different from the others. The hardwood floors were stained quite dark, and the panels on the walls were equally dark; however, there was plenty of natural lighting from the skylights, as well as the large windows and French doors that lead to a balcony which matched the one outside the master bedroom.  
  
"It's incredible!" Peeta finally breathed. "Perfect. Are you sure I can use it as a studio?"  
  
"You don't have one of these rooms?" I had assumed that all of the houses were alike but Peeta shook his head no.  
  
"I have two rooms where this is at … a billiard room and a study. You walk through the study to the billiard room." My eyebrows arched involuntarily, which made Peeta laugh. "It's a game of sorts. I played it during the winter some."  
  
When we moved here, there was so much rushing about. Both Peeta and I had been offered the chance to tour the houses and choose one, but both of us had merely looked the houses over from the outside and made our choice. All the houses looked the same from the outside. Strange how I had ended up with one more suited for a painter.  
  
"Well, now I don't know if you can use it as a studio after all." Peeta turned quickly to me, his eyes searching my face. "As you can see, it's one of my favorite rooms in the house and I use it all the time." I couldn't help grinning at him. "Of course, it's yours!"  
  
Before I knew it, Peeta was in front of me, pulling me close and kissing me. Our kisses quickly turned frantic and I raised my hands to his hair. Soon he was propelling me backward until I was against the wall. Our hips meeting each other in unfocussed thrusts. He pulled back slightly and moved to kiss my neck.  
  
"Peeta," I whispered breathlessly. My hand found the back of his head and I tangled my fingers in his hair. I could feel the burning desire at my center, and I can't lie, a part of me felt almost desperate to proceed to the next level. But Peeta pulled back as he has since we began to re-explore one another.  
  
"I'm not sure moving in here is the best idea," he said lightly, pressing a kiss to my forehead.  
  
"Really? I think it might be my best idea yet." I smiled and pulled him by the hand back to my room, where I began gathering clothes from my dresser and directed Peeta to start on the closet. Several trips later, my old room was void of personal items and Peeta was stripping the bed of the quilt and sheets.  
  
"Okay, let's get started on your stuff," I said, rushing out of the room with Peeta close on my heels.  
  
As we approached his house, Peeta grabbed my hand to stop me. "My house is a mess," he stated simply, "let me go in and clean it up a bit."  
  
"Come on, Peeta, it doesn't matter. You're moving anyway," I looked him in the eyes and waited for his response. I really couldn't imagine his house a mess because he was always tidying my home up. Finally, he nodded slightly.  
  
He led me to the kitchen side of the house. The room was neat, a small stack of baking tins and bowls was in the tray to the side of the sink. He still came here to bake.  
  
"Umm, can I bring some of the baking stuff?" he seemed embarrassed to ask.  
  
"Of course. It's your house too. Bring everything! Besides, I expect fresh baked goods daily, you know."  
  
He smiled at me, "Baking for my keep?"  
  
"Something like that." He leaned in and kissed me lightly.  
  
It took awhile but soon all of his baking items have been transferred to our kitchen. He studied the stove which is different than the one at home. Instead of one oven, there are two. The stove was installed especially for him because he's a baker.  
  
 "I think," I say carefully, "we could probably find a cart of some kind and swap the stoves. Don't you think?"  
  
"Hmmm. Maybe with Haymitch's help."  
  
In spite of myself, I wrinkle my nose, which causes him to laugh. "We'll have to wait for a sober day, and who knows when that will be. I can help." Neither one of us is completely full strength yet, but we are still strong. Before the Quell, Peeta likely could have moved it on his own.  
  
"Let's wait a bit and figure it out later. Clothes next?"  
  
He led the way upstairs, and I'm surprised like me, Peeta used one of the other bedrooms, not the master bedroom. My eyes look at him questioningly. "Well, you didn't either," he says somewhat accusingly. "It just seemed like … it wasn't a room for me."  
  
"And now?" He knows what I mean. Does the room in our house feel like it is for him?  
  
"Definitely! Why just last night I was thinking a canopy bed would be perfect for me." He grinned, but there's an electricity between us. There's the knowledge that what we are doing is a huge step forward. In fact, the past several days have been a series of giant leaps for us — a shared house, bedroom, bathroom and bed. Not to mention the shared kisses which have been passionate, full of desire and want.  
  
We begin clearing his closets. Like Cinna, Portia did an incredible job outfitting Peeta. Some of his clothes from the victory tour had been stored at our house, but Portia had also given him a ton of everyday and dress clothes besides. I watched as he removed the clothes from his closet, quietly and reverently and with the knowledge that the person who designed them was dead.  
  
"I haven't been in this closet since I got home," he said quietly. "It was too hard." I had never realized that Peeta had felt as close to Portia as I had to Cinna. Somehow, I had overlooked that fact along the way. I had accepted Cinna's death even as I watched him beaten before me. Wearing the clothing he designed for me still made my heart ache, but I felt closer to him when I wore them.  
  
"Sometimes I forget," I added quietly. "When I was in 13, I was keeping a list of my 'kills' — the people whose death I was responsible for. I never realized they were dead but I should …"  
  
Peeta cut me off. "No, they are not your kills, or my kills for that matter. Yes, Portia died because of me, but the Capitol chose to kill them to punish us. They killed all the stylists and prep teams from the Quarter Quell. Both of us have enough in our past without taking the responsibility for people who did not die at our hands. We have to move on." He's the old Peeta, and his words reach me. He's right. I have to let go of Darius, Lavinia, even Cinna, and everyone else who did not die directly by my hands.  
  
It takes us a few hours of trudging back and forth between the houses to finally move all the clothing and personal items. Before we leave his upstairs, Peeta takes me down to the end of the hall and shows me the two rooms that comprise the same area as the conservatory at our place. I see the large rectangular table with the green cloth covering and the little balls, and realize this must be the Billiard Room. On the wall is a box with eight sticks prominently displayed. I tentatively reach out to touch the cloth.  
  
"Is it fun?"  
  
"Ummm. I never really learned what to do. Haymitch was drunk when he taught me, but it did fill the long evenings." I had forgotten that Peeta had mostly spent his time alone in the house. His family, or his mother specifically, refused to move to Victor's Village with residents of the Seam in such close proximity. Peeta and I never discussed it, but in all likelihood his mother was embarrassed by his televised comments about me.  
  
So Peeta had spent his nights alone. A sense of guilt washed over me. I was so wrapped up in my Peeta versus Gale debate, that I failed to recognize my true feelings and spend my nights with the boy I loved. I'm lost in my thoughts of how different things might have been with regard to the hijacking if Peeta had known my true feelings. Would they have been able to manipulate his memories of me toward the negative?  
  
As if he could read my thoughts, Peeta said, "What's done is done and can't be undone." He sounds sad and resigned.  
  
I stepped closer to him and hugged him. A wave of warmth washed over me as he hugged me tightly back. "But we have the present, Peeta … and the future," I added a little hesitantly.  
  
"Future?" His voice was choked, as leaned back to study my face.  
  
I hesitated again, "I mean, if you want … I will always be here for you, however that is." I stumble because words have never come easily to me, especially not words that make me feel vulnerable. I really want to tell him that I love him and have for a long time, but I don't want to frighten him away.  
  
Peeta looked deeply into my eyes, his blue eyes shining. "Well, I think you can firmly put me in the 'want' column!" It was most definitely the old Peeta talking, and that made me giggle in spite of myself. "Come on," he said taking my hand and leading me toward the front stairs, "just the paintings left."  
  
We stepped into the living room and I was awestruck. There were canvases of all sizes and shapes around the living room. Some I had seen before and shuddered at how he had brought the first arena to life, but many were brand new. But the painting that caught my eye was hung above the fireplace.  
  
Peeta rarely painted himself in full into one of his works. Instead, he painted his hands or his chest.  He had told me it was his perspective, and that's what he saw. But here he was, or rather, here he and I were, limbs entangled, bodies pressed close together, our mouths sealed to one another. It was from the beach during our second games.  
  
"Umm, I'm sorry," Peeta started.  
  
"No," I quickly cut in. "I can almost feel it." Peeta had captured every detail: my bow carelessly discarded in the sand, the green ointment discoloring our skin, the pink sky above us, but most of all our passion. I stepped closer, "When did you paint this?"  
  
"In January."  
  
I turned to stare at him. January when I was being held captive in my old training room. January when my thoughts were consumed by grief. January when I dared not consider that I might one day walk free and speak with Peeta again. He seemed to sense a little explanation was in order.  
  
"See, we were sorting through memories. Trying to separate the shiny ones from the real ones, and that's when we figured out the second arena memories had not been tampered with and so we watched the footage from the second games." He stopped and looked down for a minute. "Well, it took a few days to get through all the footage of us, almost a week, and I started to remember things. Things like you teaching me to swim and asking me to run off with you, and eating on the beach, and," his voice trailed, "the kissing. Ummm … It felt real, and I needed to paint it."  
  
Warmth spread through me as I looked back at the painting. I held out my hand behind me, and Peeta quickly stepped forward. "It was real, Peeta," I whispered. "So real. I've only ever felt that … passion with you." He reached around me from behind and held me close. "I want this painting in our house, right over the fireplace." I could feel his breath on my neck before he kissed it. The warmth intensified, but he pulled back.  
  
"Well, that's settled then. This painting for sure." He smiled but I could tell the uncertainty there that I might not want the rest of his works because of the memories.  
  
"All of them Peeta," but I began by lifting the big one down from over the fireplace. Peeta grabbed several from alongside, and we headed back to our house. Peeta raced upstairs to his new studio, as I set the painting of us down in front of the fireplace in the living room. I stood back to admire it and felt a lump rising in my throat before I headed back to Peeta's.  
  
Once there, I started to really look around. Peeta is gifted, without a doubt. I moved one painting and gasped as another came into view. It's a spectacular sunset and suddenly I realized that many more of his works will be on display in our new home. Again, I rushed back to our house carrying only a single painting. I met Peeta on the stairs and he looked at me with a question in his eyes as I headed to our room. I set the painting down carefully, and then reached for the one above the fireplace. I measured to make sure it would fit and began pulling the old one from the frame.  
  
"What are you doing?" Peeta asked, obviously aware that the Capitol provided paintings were considered "masterpieces" of great value.  
  
"I prefer your work. Our bedroom, your paintings."  
  
A grin spread across his face. "You know the painting you just removed is worth a lot of money."  
  
I shrugged. "I know but I really like this sunset better. It reminds me of the night on the rooftop."  
  
"Does it?" He peered at the painting, as I fit it in the frame. It would need something to hold it in place, but the intricately carved frame was perfect for it.  
  
I nodded in response to his question. "Exactly." I looked up to see his eyes questioning me. "You don't remember?" I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice but his face fell realizing that it was probably a moment he wanted to remember.  
  
"Tell me?"  
  
We moved to the couch in front of the fireplace and I took his hands. Not being a real story teller, I was not sure how it would come out but I wanted Peeta to at least visualize it.  
  
"I'm not sure I know where to start but I'm going to start on the train to the Quell. Do you remember that?" He shook his head no with eyes so downcast that I pressed on. "Okay, so a little further back than that even." I took his hands and he immediately began rubbing circles on the back side with his thumbs. The gesture was so Peeta, I knew the boy of old was very much still there.  
  
"They announced the Quarter Quell right after I had tried on my wedding dresses. In fact, they interviewed Cinna and showed the photos of me the same night." A trace of smile appeared as he closed his eyes. I waited a moment as it looked like his mind was working through something.  
  
"I remember," he said quietly. "They didn't take it from me. You were beautiful. There were five, no six dresses but you did not look happy in the photos. Well you smiled but your eyes looked like they were pissed." He used a term more fitting the Seam than the merchant class, which made me smile. In fact, it made me smile that the memories were there, just below the surface waiting to be restored. "Go on."  
  
"Well, after they announced they were taking the tributes from the existing pool, I kind of lost it in a big way and got drunk with Haymitch." He chuckled now, and so I waited to see if he added anything.  
  
After a moment, "I remember. I ran to Haymitch to make sure he understood I wanted you saved at any cost. I told him no matter what, I would be in the arena with you and that since he owed me a favor, I wanted you saved. Then the next morning, I went to your house and your mom said you came home drunk after seeing Haymitch. So then later, I went and dumped his liquor and made sure he couldn't get more."  
  
"So you remember all this?"  
  
"Umm, it's kind of hard to describe. You kind of set it up with your words and then the related event kind of boils up. Keep going."  
  
"Do you remember training Haymitch and I?"  
  
He thought for a moment and shook his head in frustration.  
  
"It's okay, Peeta." My voice was soft and low. It was my turn to rub the back of his hands with my thumbs. "You wanted to train us like careers, and you started the next day. You were a grueling drill sergeant!" He smiled at my description. "I realized then how strong you were. We ran miles a day. You learned to climb trees. I taught you how to shoot a bow and arrow." I can tell he's remembering.  
  
"Fragments, Katniss. Slow down and tell a story."  
  
"What do you see?"  
  
"Ummm. Haymitch covered in mud and you're laughing wearing kind of a … snug gray t-shirt and tight black pants." His cheeks turned pink with the last part. "Sorry."  
  
I laughed in spite of everything because I was impressed that he could remember my outfit. When Cinna found out that we were training, he sent running pants and t-shirts and other so-called workout clothes for us to train in. All of the garments were form fitting but at the time, I didn't even think Peeta noticed what I wore.  
  
"So that day was raining and Haymitch was still trying to fight the after-effects of so many years of drinking. It was a cool day, but not cold and we were working hard. Each day started with 150 crunches, fifty pushups … ."  
  
"One hundred jumping jacks, twenty-five lunges to the right, twenty-five lunges to the left, and a four-mile run." Peeta said.  
  
"Yes! Good! That's exactly right. Plus, if we did not do them promptly, we had to do ten more of whatever we were slow to do." He was smiling at this point.  
  
"You would growl at me!"  
  
"Yes, I would but I knew you were trying to help. Well, like I said, you had set up an obstacle course, and you managed to run it quickly and efficiently. I never stopped marveling at how well you managed your leg. Then I ran the course. Finally, Haymitch started. He stumbled through the netting, took four tries to climb the barrier, slammed his, uh … groin … into one of the hurdles, and toppled head first over a barrel into the mud puddle below!"  
  
Peeta collapsed backward on the couch in a full-on belly laugh. For several minutes we laughed, tears streaming down his face. Finally, he gasped out, "I remember."  
  
It thrilled my heart to know that he remembered it.  
  
"He told me … he knew there was a special kind of hell for a person like me." He was still laughing, but somehow, we both sobered quickly. Haymitch could never have known what awaited Peeta, but still, Peeta had been enduring his own hell. "Ummm. The rooftop …"  
  
"Right, well, after the reaping …"  
  
"Tell me about the reaping," Peeta interrupted.  
  
"Okay, Effie was upset and she could barely grasp my name. It was such a farce," I remembered bitterly. "Then, Haymitch's name was drawn and for a half second I was relieved and then you …"  
  
"Volunteered," he squeezed my hands tightly. "I would never have done it differently, you know that Katniss."  
  
"I know. Well, we couldn't say goodbye and in some ways, it was better that way. I said my goodbyes on the train and thought I was leaving everyone forever. I knew they would never let us both survive again, and I was determined that you would survive."  
  
Peeta's gaze had never left mine. "If you would have died, Katniss, I would have killed myself. Without you, I never would have gone on. You have to know that."  
  
The tears flowed from both us, but neither of us made an effort to quell our tears. "Well, the same is true for me, I would have died without you." It was a simple statement, but Peeta began to sob uncontrollably. He reached for me and held me as I continued.  
  
"You hadn't touched me or said a word to make me think you still loved me since before the announcement. That night on the train, I went to bed wanting you to come with me but not daring to ask. I woke from nightmares and found you watching old Game's footage. You held out your arms and I walked straight into them. I didn't want to ever let you go."  
  
His sobs had died down by this point, "I remember, I just wanted to hold you and kiss you but we watched Haymitch's games, instead. I liked Plan A better." I giggled at his admission.  
  
"Well, then they had the opening ceremonies. I was selfish, Peeta, but so glad when we were standing in the chariot and you were by my side instead of Haymitch. When I took your hand, I felt the electricity between us. I knew that I needed you." Peeta squeezed me tightly, but did not raise his head. This was much more than I had ever told him.  
  
"Then I ended up getting upset with you when you called me 'pure.'" Peeta laughed out loud at this admission. Suddenly, I could tell that memories were flooding over him. I imagined that he remembered Joanna standing naked before us and how I dropped his hand before we reached our floor.  
  
"You were you know. It wasn't supposed to be rude, it was a compliment. Just the way I wanted you."  
  
"Whatever," I said, but a smile played on my lips. "Then on the last day, we both tried to impress the judges."  
  
"What did I do? Do you know? What did - "  
  
"You painted a picture of …."  
  
"Rue," he said quickly, "and, you hung Seneca Crane?"  
  
"Well, a dummy, but yes. That night we both scored a 12, first and last time in the history of the games, and suddenly, nothing was as important as just spending time with you. You spent the night with me and I could not believe how stupid I was not to have slept with you every chance I got." Peeta squeezed my hand again.  
  
"So the next day, we had a picnic on the roof. We played a game with the force field."  
  
"Yes, I remember!" he nearly shouted as another memory flooded over him, untouched by the Capitol. "You made knots with leaves, and I sketched you, and you fell asleep on my lap, and then I woke you for the sunset because I was thinking it was among my last and I wanted to spend it with you."  
  
The tears were flowing for me again. "That's the sunset, right there."  
  
"Yes, it is. So it's real. I thought it was just … well, not real, but very beautiful."  
  
"Yes, real, Peeta."  
  
We finished bringing over the paintings, his supplies, his easels. At one point during the process, Haymitch wandered across the road to find out what was happening. His eyes took on a curious look when we explained that Peeta was moving in.  
  
When Peeta was out of earshot, Haymitch said, "Keeping a loaded gun under the pillow, Sweetheart?" It was a joke, but not really.  
  
"Damn you," there was no humor in my voice. Everything about the hijacking is still too fresh. An open wound and the fact that not even nine months have passed since he put a strangle hold on me is a bit daunting. Yet, I wouldn't change a thing about our present.  
  
I moved past him quickly, forcing his comment from my head. We met him on the return trip and saw that he's carrying paintings too. He stopped and wouldn't meet my eyes.  
  
"Peeta, ummm, your work is really remarkable," he paused long enough for Peeta to nod his thanks. "Do you think you could paint a portrait based on a description?"  
  
Peeta cleared his throat, "Yes, I think so. Who do you have in mind?"  
  
"Uhhh, my mom and my brother …" He wasn't looking at Peeta, "and my girl."  
  
My heart wrenched when I heard the last one. I've lost my father and my sister, but suddenly the thought of losing "my boy" was unbearable. Haymitch had tears in his eyes, and I moved to hug him but he pushed me gruffly away. "I would appreciate it." He continued on to the house with his load of paintings.  
  
After we were finished, Haymitch joined us at the table as we began to prepare supper. I cleaned and cut the vegetables and put them on to boil. Peeta busied himself making a special bread that he had tasted in the Capitol and guessed the ingredients. Haymitch cubed the rabbit meat and passed it off to me to fry.  
  
With everything simmering or baking, we had time before everything was ready. Peeta caught my eye and mouthed, "the book." I nodded and went to retrieve it from it's new place on the table in our room.  
  
"Haymitch, Peeta and I are working on a book of remembrance for everyone …" I faltered, looking to Peeta.  
  
"Who has touched our life in some way," he finished perfectly. "It was Katniss's idea, and it's really helped lay things to rest in many ways."  
  
I set the book in front of him, and Haymitch opened to the first page and saw Prim's face, so lifelike and real staring at him. He paged through, stopping here and there. Finnick's page, caused a tear to stream down his cheek. He touched Chaff's page gently, and smiled at the the description of Mag's phenomenal fishing lure capabilities.  
  
There was the account of Peeta's father visiting me with the cookies that seemed to make him catch his breath. Peeta's illustrations and my descriptions had provided a solid account of what had happened but still, there was more to add.  
  
"Would you want to add anyone? Other tributes from 12, or anyone?"  
  
He's silent for a long time, and then says, "Let me think about it." But he continued to page through the book. He stopped again reading the descriptions and looking at the photos of Cinna and Portia. Every page was lovingly put together and Haymitch spent time looking at the arrangement created for each. Each of their photos is surrounded with photos of Peeta and me wearing their creations.  
  
Then suddenly he looked up. "Better put you two in here."  
  
"We're not dead." I said, trying to make him understand it's a memory book.  
  
His smile was sad when he said, "Well, I don't know that you should have to be dead to be remembered for what you were. Neither of you are the same person who rode the train with me two years ago. Seems to me that you were reborn somewhere along the line. Possibly even better versions of your former selves."  
  
I'm suddenly taken aback. A part of me wants to argue that it's not true, but in my heart, we are very different then we were two years ago. We probably were reborn a number of times since then, but better versions? Peeta, who seemed to read my thoughts, looked at me with the same gentle eyes, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I've always thought you were just about perfect, so to me you just keep getting more perfect every day," he whispered. In that moment, I realized how much I have changed because the old me would have scowled at his words, but now I just smiled at him and kissed his cheek.  
  
A few minutes later, Peeta sat down and quickly sketched a very real version of the Mockingjay, and by her side is a sketch of himself in his District 13 gray uniform. His eyes vacant and unfocussed. His next sketch is us standing on the stage at our first reaping, and in the corner he sketches a version of us with the Nightlock. I marveled at how quickly he works. He continued to sketch and images of us at various points appeared on the page. A tribute to ourselves.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"I like it. Keep going." I know that he will later transfer all of these to the parchment in vivid color.  
  
"What else?" he questioned.  
  
I pointed to an empty space and said, "Bread and dandelions." A smile appeared on his face as he worked.  
  
The food was ready and I finished supper while he worked. I could feel Haymitch's eyes on us. So many times last summer, Haymitch had been convinced that Peeta would never return to someone capable of normal interaction with me. Yet here he sits. The same steadying presence. The same hopeful expression, my boy with bread.  
  
We retired earlier tonight. I showered first and began my now nightly routine of applying lotion while Peeta showered. At first I'm preoccupied with my thoughts about the day, but then I notice Peeta's reflection in the mirror as he showers, and suddenly I'm back at the Training Center the night before we entered the Quell.  
  
After our interviews, I was desperate not to let Peeta out of my sight. I had showered in a hurry to make sure that Peeta wouldn't get impatient and return to his room to shower. Because of it, I still had makeup to remove, so I stood in front of the mirror and wiped the makeup from my face.  I had a towel wrapped around me with the intentions of putting on a nightgown once my face was free of makeup.  
  
Peeta had come into the bathroom and began removing his clothes. It wasn't until he stripped his underwear off that I noticed him and a rush of warmth spread through me. He stepped into the shower, and closed the door unaware that I had taken notice. The door was clear glass and actually offered a pretty good view of his lean strong body. I was a bit mesmerized by Peeta showering, lifting his face to the nozzle, soaping his hair, running his hands down …  
  
I snap back to reality as the door opens on the shower and Peeta's eyes meet mine. I'm blushing and he knows that I was watching but he doesn't say anything. He just stands there, completely naked and unashamed.  
  
"I feel like this isn't the first time we've been in these positions," he says finally, his eyes showing that he's trying hard to place it.  
  
I exhale softly and turn to him. It's been a big day for recalling the past and I'm not sure if this is a good place to go or not, but I can't seem to make myself think straight at the moment.  
  
"Refresh it for me, please Katniss."  
  
"Umm, do you remember the interviews with Caesar Flickerman? When you told everyone we were already married and that I was pregnant?" He nods, still standing there naked and dripping, but I hold his gaze, willing myself not to drop my eyes down his body.  
  
"Do you remember after when we got back upstairs?" He shakes his head slightly and I realize that it was a bit of a leap from the stage to the penthouse. I should have taken it more slowly to let his mind fill in the gaps. "Well, we got back upstairs and you asked if there was anything that you needed to apologize for." It's like a lightbulb. For a second I wish I had figured out the recall part a lot sooner. It seems like he's just been waiting for someone to uncover the memories.  
  
His eyes appear far off, lost in rememberance and I wonder if it's just flashes or if there's more of a total recall. "What do you remember, Peeta?"  
  
"Umm. You wanted me to come to your room. You told me to shower there. I made you go first?" It seems like a question, so I nod. "Then I showered and when I stepped out, you were looking at me. Then …" he hesitated, not sure if he had forgotten the rest or if he just wasn't sure.  
  
"I stepped forward …" It's just enough.  
  
"And you kissed me, and I kissed you and before I knew it, I was slipping the towel down." He had grown hard as he remembered, and he exhaled loudly. "We, uhhh, made our way to the bed and started to … to … explore each other. I don't remember saying anything or you either for that matter, just that I think we, or I at least really wanted it."  
  
I interrupt. "We did, Peeta, we both did." His eyes focus on me again, and he pulls a towel from the shelf and walks to the bedroom.  
  
Uncertain, I follow him. He's drying himself briskly and puts on a pair of shorts, ignoring his erection. "Why?" he asks, and I know what he wants to know without explanation.  
  
"A lot of reasons. I still did not fully understand what I was feeling for you, but in my heart I knew that I was going to die within a few days or less." Peeta is looking at me curiously. He gestures toward the bed, and I climb in my side of the new bed, while Peeta climbs in his side. He moves close, just like the other nights. "I did not want to die without knowing what it felt like to … be … close to you, in that way." I couldn't get myself to say it.  
  
"I remember that we did a lot of kissing and touching. I think I wanted to know everything about you. I didn't want to die without knowing you either. Here I am, almost having forgotten the whole experience." He sounds bitter.  
  
I roll toward him, "But you are remembering now." He's quiet for a moment, and I know he's trying to remember everything.  
  
"I was your first. Real or not real."  
  
I'm a little surprised, but answer quickly, "Real," and then I wait a moment, "and only."  
  
He is trying to suppress a grin, but I know that he was wondering. "Umm, I … did I hurt you?" he blurts.  
  
"No, Peeta, you were very gentle and it was … incredible. I was your first too." He nods as if that was never a question. I remembered the night so well, as we got closer to the actual event, Peeta had hesitated and said that he had never done it before and did not want to mess up. We were both so nervous at first, but then a calm settled over us and instincts took over, and the night was unforgettable. Well, at least for me.  
  
In an instant, his eyes are troubled. Not like he's having an episode but just like he's struggling with something internally.  
  
"What is it, Peeta?"  
  
"Nothing. Ummm. Nothing. I'm just tired, I guess."  
  
I nod knowing that it was a physically and emotionally exhausting day. He pulls me close and I'm expecting a kiss but none comes. Soon after I drift to sleep.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate the feedback!


	8. Why Can't It Just Be Easy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings are the property of Suzanne Collins.

I'm angry and I don't even know why. Well, I do know why but I don't know "why," and it angers and frustrates me.

Ever since we talked about our first time, Peeta has been decidedly cool toward me. I don't understand why, and tonight's activities have infuriated me but I need to put it in perspective and sort through it.

I woke the morning after we had talked about our first time together, and Peeta's side of the bed was cool to the touch. I dressed and went downstairs expecting to find him in the kitchen, but instead there was a plate with a cinnamon roll on the table for me.

Peeta's spent so much time working on his town projects, that I just figured he had went to town early. So I ate, grabbed my bow, and headed out to hunt. It wasn't until I was at the fence that I realized that I needed my coat, so I went back home. I entered through the kitchen door and was headed into the back hallway, when I heard Peeta's voice. He was talking to someone, probably on the phone, and he sounded upset.

"Look, I'm telling you exactly what happened and I need to know."

I stop and wait.

"Dr. Aurelius, Katniss and I had sex before the Quarter Quell. I never remembered it because it was tucked away. But last night, she was … helping me with recall … and I remembered. I asked her about being her first, and she replied, 'real' and then she said, 'and only.' Now I have to find out about the 'only' part and you are the only one that can help me."

I gasped, not believing that Peeta did not trust me enough to take my word, and how did he expect Dr. Aurelius to find out for sure. I was certainly not going to discuss it with him. I backed out of the hall, and headed outside again, leaving my coat behind.

"Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap!" I muttered to myself as I walked. In spite of the chilliness of the morning, I no longer needed the coat. I was walking briskly with no particular destination. A few miles into the woods, I slumped against a towering pine tree and finally confronted my feelings. Would Peeta ever trust me? If he wasn't the only one, would it really matter? Technically, we were engaged, but Peeta had wanted me to go home to Gale during the Quell.

For the first time in weeks, my thoughts turn to Gale. Sex with Gale had never really been an option. The only time we kissed more than once was in District 2, and then Gale had stopped it himself. The cold fact of the matter was that Peeta had fueled my dreams, such as they were.

Just when things were really starting to turn around between us, this came up as an issue. How am I supposed to combat his thinking? As I sat there, I glumly realize that I have another session with Dr. Aurelius this afternoon. How will I handle the inevitable question? Do I just jump in and say, "Gosh, Dr. Aurelius, Peeta and I were just discussing our sex life and I've only had him as partner"?

I hated not having anyone to talk to about problems like this. Haymitch was out of the question. I didn't want to talk to Effie because she would tell Haymitch. Damn!

I forced myself to hunt, and spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon tracking a young doe. After a few hours, I spotted her in an open field, and pulled up to take aim. That's when I realized I had no good way to get her home, so I chose to watch her instead. She was graceful and beautiful, picking her way over the greening grass. She spied me after awhile and stared at me timidly. It was the first time, I've ever knowingly passed up game.

Eventually, I made my way home to take the call from Dr. Aurelius. I still didn't know how to handle the subject when it came up. I paused inside the door, and called out to Peeta. No answer, so apparently he was in town. I took a few tentative steps, feeling somewhat like a stranger in my own home now that I knew Peeta's trust in me was short-lived. The phone rang, and I startled.

I made my way to the study, and answered.

"Katniss!" Dr. Aurelius' voice boomed. "How are you today?"

"How are you" is probably one of the most complicated questions. If you answer honestly, you will likely turn someone away with your bluntness, so most people answer casually. For me, it was a toss up. So excited the day before, I had planned to talk about the move during this session; however, now I decided to take the "safe out."

"I'm fine."

"Good. Good."

For the next twenty-five minutes, Dr. Aurelius quizzed me about the book. I thought he was trying to put me at ease for his interrogation. Instead, he asked me about the scarring from the burns, which was a little puzzling because he's a head doctor, not a skin doctor. He explained, though, that the scarring of my body plays out as a constant reminder of my last day with Prim, and that I might have subconsciously suppressed the desire to keep the scars as a reminder.

I shrugged even though we were on the phone and he could not see it. He encouraged me to keep on with the lotion and had found a stronger one that should help erase them more effectively. I was fairly quiet during this part of the discussion because it made me uncomfortable to talk about my body. The scarring was almost entirely on the front torso region, a little on the sides. Remarkably, none on my breasts because my bra was fire resistant.

With only ten minutes left in our allotted time, Dr. Aurelius told me there's something important to discuss. I steeled myself for the embarrassing topic.

"As you know, Katniss, part of the reason you were declared not guilty after your trial was because you were considered mentally unstable. I argued that you were not rational when you made the decision to fire your arrow in Coin's direction." He paused before continuing, "In truth, I believe you were stressed by the events, but made a rational decision in your mind based on the known facts. You've made remarkable progress over the past several weeks, and my intention is to report your progress and appeal to lift the restrictions regarding travel and so forth."

There's a pause long enough for me to realize he's waiting for a response, "Okay. I doubt if I want to travel anywhere though."

"Well in the future, you know. Maybe District 4 to see your Mom, or the Capitol."

I wrinkled my nose wondering why on earth I would consider a trip to the Capitol but I didn't say anything.

"Also, Katniss, you must know something. Public sentiment runs high in your favor. People are disgusted that the trial was public, and others began to realize that there was probably sound motivation behind your decision to kill Coin. A month ago, a petition was submitted to Paylor to begin an investigation into Coin. She signed off, and a team has been going through Coin's paperwork, and there will be an announcement today at eight o'clock your time. Please watch."

A minute later, he said goodbye without having brought up my "only" time. I was distracted by the news about Coin, but confused by his omission of my sex life. Maybe he was uncomfortable too.

I plodded upstairs and changed out of my hunting clothes and entered the shower. Maybe he had talked Peeta out of his fears, and that's why he never mentioned it. I let the water hit me for several seconds as hot as I could take it. My eyes drifted to my torso and I watched the pink baby-like skin appear. Maybe the issue for Peeta is that he doesn't find me attractive anymore. The scars may be a problem, and maybe that's why Dr. Aurelius' was addressing them.

Well, the truth of the matter was, I have scars from being burned and the Capitol probably could have healed them completely and polished us both down to the pristine but they chose not to. I finished my shower and dressed quickly. I combed and braided my hair and headed down to work on supper.

It was nearly six o'clock and Peeta was generally home by this time. Just as I entered the kitchen Sae arrived saying that Peeta had sent her over because he planned to work on the bakery site as long as possible. I knew it was an excuse to stay away from me but I didn't want Sae to see how it affected me. She made potato mush for supper. We ate and Sae left, and Peeta was still not home.

At eight o'clock, I turned on the TV. That's been one of the most noticeable changes. No longer does the TV just come on for an important broadcast. Except in the case of emergencies, people are given the opportunity to decide whether to watch or not. Curiosity, plus the need to push my current dilemma far from my mind, forced me to watch this evening.

I caught the end of a Capitol program and am struck that the frivolity of Capitol life marches on, unimpeded. Suddenly, there is a staccato burst of drums, followed by a crash of piano chords, that denoted the beginning of a special news broadcast. It was a bit jarring and my stomach clenched.

The news reader was young and I didn't recognize him. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. Tonight, we have a special report regarding the ongoing investigation of short term president, President Coin, who was assassinated by the infamous Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen, last fall."

"Short-term," I thought to myself and realized that a slight smile curled my lips. "Pretty damn short," I said aloud. Peeta rounded the corner at this moment and our eyes met but his quickly drifted to the TV.

"As everyone knows, Everdeen was the volunteer tribute from District 12, two years ago for the 74th annual Hunger Games." A montage of photos flashed on the screen: Peeta and me in our chariot outfits, me in the red dress, and finally me in my training outfit. I caught my breath realizing the girl in the photos was lost forever. "Nicknamed, 'the girl on fire,' she took the arena by storm, surviving the odds, and saving the life of her lover, fellow District 12 tribute, Peeta Mellark."

Two years later, the angle of the star-crossed lovers of District 12 was still too hard to resist. Tonight, it made me annoyed and I really wanted to switch the TV off.

"Her actions during the Games, sparked a revolution, which a year later, she became the figurehead of, as she and the once-thought extinct District 13, pushed for the overthrow of President Snow. Everdeen nearly lost her life in a firestorm which took the life of her sister Primrose Everdeen, who she had volunteered to save just sixteen months prior." I inhaled sharply as Prim's photo appeared on the screen.

"A short time later, on a beautiful October day, Everdeen was scheduled as the sole executioner of former President Cornelius Snow. She was outfitted with a single arrow for her famous bow. Instead of sending it flying through the chest of Snow, she adjusted her aim at the last second and sent it through the heart of then President Coin. The nation was in shock." The footage of the assassination followed, I saw Coin topple to the ground, and soldiers rush forward to push me to the ground. I watched as I struggled to get to the Nightlock, and bit Peeta's hand instead. My face was furious. I just wanted to die, and that's evident on every feature.

"The trial of Everdeen was a public spectacle which angered not only the Districts, but the Capitol as well as she never took the stand nor uttered a word in her own defense. Portrayed by her team of skillful lawyers as suffering from a serious mental break, Everdeen was believed to be too psychotic to be trusted in public. The judge found her not guilty by reason of insanity, and she was returned to District 12, as one of only a handful of residents at that time." The next footage surprised me as Plutarch and Haymitch led me to the waiting hovercraft.

"Many thought we had heard the last of the Mockingjay and her star-crossed lover, Mellark, who was seen saving her life by keeping her from the Nightlock capsule hidden in her suit. However, a news update five weeks ago, sparked the interest of the public once it became known that Everdeen was, in fact, living on her own, without the benefit or assistance of doctors. That information was enough to fuel the debate that Everdeen was not psychotic, nor ever truly was, and therefore, had justifiable cause for what she did in regard to Coin."

"A petition circulated quickly and gained support in twelve of thirteen Districts, as well as the Capitol, and nearly ninety percent of the population signed in order to request a complete investigation of President Coin to determine what potentially caused Everdeen to shoot Coin. The investigation was initiated twenty-eight days ago by a special task force appointed by President Paylor.

"A preliminary report was released this morning which has left the public reeling once more. Documents from Coin's personal archive indicate that the revolution was intricately planned years in advance, and Everdeen was likely unaware of the plans prior to saving her District partner, Mellark two years ago. The act of defiance that sparked a revolution was more likely a desperate act of love initiated to save Mellark.

"The documents show that Coin argued that Mellark should be the voice of revolution while her advisers, including the pair's mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, were determined that Everdeen should fill the role. Coin finally relented, but in her personal diary expressed disdain for Everdeen, and wrote, 'Once the revolution is underway, I will take care of the little whore from District 12 because she promises to be more trouble than she's worth.'" I sucked in my breath.

"A plan was hatched by Coin and her cohorts to save Everdeen during the Quarter Quell. The team also made a decision to save Finnick, the popular District 4 victor. It was revealed that Coin herself, decided to abandon Mellark, believing that Everdeen would be a better so-called 'mouthpiece' for the revolution without him. Coin believed that the two were not a team as many others felt, but rather playing roles to survive, and she wanted to re-focus away from the lovers angle to the revolution itself."

I tried to take it all in. Peeta was abandoned on purpose. Coin wanted me dead from the start. Haymitch lied? Or was he simply uninformed? The broadcast continued, "Everdeen and Mellark were not informed regarding the revolution; however, tributes from Districts 3, 4, 6, 7 and 11, were aware of the plan. We have this never before seen video of Everdeen confronting her former mentor Abernathy after her rescue." We watched as I entered the room with Haymitch, Finnick and Plutarch, "Done knocking yourself out, Sweetheart?" Haymitch questioned, and I'm lost in time.

So many thoughts and emotions welled up inside me from that day. The realization that Peeta was abandoned, the story that they simply could not rescue him. I missed most of the video on the screen until I heard myself whisper, "Peeta." My attention came back to the screen, and I watched the next minutes unfold as Haymitch revealed that Peeta and Johanna were taken by the Capitol, and I launched myself toward him raking my fingernails down his cheeks. We screamed at each other, hateful things. I swore to kill him.

"Haymitch, you promised, and you are nothing but a lying bastard. You never had any intention of saving Peeta. How can you even look at me?" Then I heard myself say the words which I had never uttered to Peeta's face, "I love him you fucking asshole." Peeta inhaled sharply. "You knew that and abandoned him anyway. Fuck you, Haymitch, you should have let me bleed to death out there." So there it was. My declaration of love not given in a sweet moment of passion, but rather in a dangerously heated argument which spilled over and laid my emotions bare. I won't look at Peeta now even though I know he's looking at me.

"Coin's diary indicates how angry she was at Everdeen, who refused the Mockingjay role initially and only agreed when she saw the means to save the life of Mellark once more as she sought amnesty for him and other tributes taken captive by the Capitol. Many boxes of information have been gathered by the task force which suggest that Everdeen was the target of at least three separate assassination attempts organized by Coin herself.

"The first attempt took place following the successful rescue of Mellark when Everdeen was sent to District 2 to assist in the efforts to bring that district under control. In an exclusive document obtained for this report, Coin issued 'kill orders' for Everdeen at first opportunity. While making a plea to the residents of District 2 to lay down their arms, Everdeen was shot, not by the opposition but rather by District 13 sharpshooter Millicent Jackson.

"'She's much more important to the revolution dead than alive. She gave us a symbol and now can become a martyr,' Coin wrote about the 17-year-old Mockingjay. A second, and perhaps more diabolical plan involved her lover, Mellark. While in the custody of Snow, it was revealed that Mellark was tortured using tracker jacker venom and other means to alter his memories of Everdeen and make him want to kill her. His first attempt to end Everdeen's life was within minutes of his arrival in District 13, when he attempted to choke her.

"Once again, reading from Coin's own diary, 'Today I visited with Peeta's team who informed me that he is making startling bounds toward recovery and is asking to meet with Katniss as soon as possible. My belief is that Peeta is likely to be more valuable to us not fully rehabilitated and asked the doctors to allow a setback to keep the edge in our favor.'" I can't help it now, I have to look at Peeta. Tortured first by the Capitol, and then by Coin? He's shaken and I see it in his eyes.

The announcer continued: "Apparently, Everdeen was sent to the Capitol with a special squad, whose initial mission was unclear; however, after losing a member of their squad, Coin saw an opportunity to replace that person with Mellark, who had not received continued therapy in District 13 and had slipped backward in his hatred for Everdeen. Within days, records show that he made a second attempt on her life while the squad was in the middle of shooting a propo for the rebels.

"The final attempt on her life was made the same day she was severely burned. In an ill advised move, Coin issued a 'shoot to kill' order with a reward for her death." This was news to me, and I wondered how I even survived. Three attempts on my life. I'm living on borrowed time.

"We must note that eyewitness accounts from members of their squad indicate that after the second attempt on her life, Mellark begged for her to kill him or give him the means to die several times within the next few days. Mellark is also described as a young man who fought to control his actions and would not allow the handcuffs to be removed to prevent him from possibly attempting to kill her again." I'm glad they inserted that information so people would understand that Peeta was not a monster.

"Another significant revelation of the investigation thus far is that the last bomb dropped on City Square was conceived and manufactured in District 13, by former District 3 victor, James Beetee and Gale Hawthorne, initially reported to be a cousin of Everdeen but seems instead to have been a close personal friend.

"The bomb was a prototype and was not in mass production, and the pair seemed to have no knowledge that it was going to be used in the manner that took the lives of so many children. Beetee, who works in the Department of Defense, was approached for comment as he left work."

The video showed Beetee in his wheelchair making his way to his vehicle. "I had no idea it was going to be used. No one asked whether it was ready, and it was never tested and perfected. I'm sorry it was used against children. That's all! That's it!" He pushed a button and the side door swung open and he wheeled inside.

"We also attempted to speak with Gale Hawthorne who is working in Intelligence in District 2." And there he was, Gale with his dark hair and his brooding good looks. Gale with his tailored uniform, pursued by reporters and cameras, finally relenting. "Look, this is honestly the first I'm hearing about this, " he lied, looking into the camera. "I suggest before you go dragging me through the mud, you get your facts straight."

Cut back to the studio, "Obviously, two conflicting reports from the two primary people involved. The investigation has been broadened to include possible war crimes charges.

"Finally, Havensbee Plutarch, who is currently serving as Minister of Propaganda, released the following statement: 'I for one am relieved that we can finally openly address the crimes of President Coin. Her death was actually a godsend, and we have our Mockingjay Katniss Everdeen to thank for this. My greatest hope is that the investigators will take into account that Coin was a desperate, power hungry woman, who undoubtedly implicated so many others to exonerate herself. As to the Mockingjay and her lover, Peeta Mellark, I would like to say that both have recovered and are now in the process of seeking domestic tranquility, according to my source."

I couldn't listen anymore and angrily shut it off and stalked toward the kitchen. Peeta followed.

"Katniss?"

My back to him, I held up my hand. My emotions were raging and to tell you the truth, maybe I was a psychotic killer because in that moment, I just wanted to kill Plutarch, Beetee and the whole damn lot of them. I could not trust myself for several minutes, finally I said, "Apparently, in two years time, I have not made my own damn decision about anything. I was some kind of puppet. They pulled the strings and I did what they wanted."

I turned around at this point, and felt completely defeated. In twenty-four hours, my happiness has been completely syphoned away. I'm angry with Haymitch and disgusted with myself. Overriding everything is the uncertainty between Peeta and myself. Why can't it be just a little easier?

He's looking at me with concern, but making no effort to comfort me, so I blurted out, "Dr. Aurelius is working to get the travel ban lifted. I think I will go to see my mother. There's nothing for me here." I saw the hurt register in his eyes, and I brushed past him and made my way upstairs. I sagged down on my old, sheet-less bed. The tears flow, and finally sleep comes but Peeta does not. The nightmares are intense, and I struggled to wrest myself from their grip.

Just before dawn, I roused myself and made my way to the bathroom. There was a light under the door to the studio and I realized that he had been up painting most of the night. "Peeta?" I called from outside, "are you okay?"

"Yeah. Go back to bed." He doesn't bother to open the door.

I headed to the bathroom, and then back to our bedroom. The bed there was undisturbed as well. Instead of laying down, I dressed for the day even though it was still early. I headed downstairs and started coffee, and then checked the refrigerator. "Peeta," I called up the stairs, "what do you want for breakfast?"

I heard the door open, "Why didn't you go back to bed?"

"Nightmares," I answered shortly, knowing he had to have heard me. There's a long pause.

"I'll just wait," he said finally.

Without a word, I grabbed some apples from the counter, my jacket and my bow and headed out into the early dawn. I walked briskly as I approached the fence and crawled under it. My mind is a flurry of activity. The revelations from last night fought for dominance in my mind. I walked steadily and with purpose toward the cabin.

Normally, this would have been one of my favorite times of the day as the woods around me came to life but today nothing registers. There's some relief that I was not wrong about Coin. A part of me wondered whether or not my grief losing Prim had clouded my judgement. As I neared the cabin, I realized that I'm a bit reluctant to actually set foot inside. Once it was a safe refuge but now there's an almost overwhelming sense of loss on so many levels.

When I had taken Peeta here, I never considered going inside. I sat down on the old wood porch and began to dissect everything from last night, forcing Peeta out of my head for the time being.

Gale's appearance on my television screen had been the most jarring. Jarring. Sad but true. When I first met Gale I had felt a great deal of anxiety. He was already transforming from a boy to a man, and the two year age difference had seemed like an insurmountable obstacle. As time passed, so had the anxiety and an easy friendship had developed. A camaraderie so to speak, based upon the mutual loss of fathers and need to provide for our families.

He had always been good looking but I was determined never to get involved with anyone, and I can't say that I was ever jealous of the attention he paid to the girls. His admission in District 2 of kissing other girls was hardly a shock. I remembered teasing him about Serenity Neder a few months before my first arena. Serenity was telling all the girls in health class that she and Gail had played a little game called, "Just the Tip."

I wasn't upset and found it a little funny that Gale was engaging in that type of activity with Serenity because she was the girlfriend of Chord Perkins, I smiled remembering Chord as this massively well built young man that towered over even Gale by a few inches. He was very good looking but kind of a dud in the brains department.

Still, I knew a lot of people assumed Gale and I were more than friends. But we never had been in my mind until after I got back from the Games. I'm not even sure now why I dismissed Peeta so easily. Maybe it was the initial lack of common ground, but actually we had quite a lot of common ground considering we were both victors.

It was Peeta's arms that I sought out for comfort during the night, and it was Peeta who I kissed endlessly. I never once gave it a second thought when he would kiss my forehead lightly even when the cameras were not around, or when there was no one who would benefit by seeing such an intimacy. Peeta had crossed over the lines of mere friendship and I had never really told him no. His attention only made me uncomfortable when I considered that Gale might be affected. Certainly sleeping in the same bed overstepped natural bounds of friendship, but it never bothered me because I knew there was no chance Gale would find out. Still, I can't say that I had ever really wanted to sleep in Gale's arms at night.

But there was one thing that I was certain of with Gale, and that was that he had always been my friend. Seeing him last night, lying to the camera, had made me feel sad and kind of lonely, like I never really knew him. His anger had been palpable. Maybe I never did know him and that fact makes me sadder still.

The sun had risen significantly higher in the sky as I had pondered the situation. I bit into one of the apples and enjoyed the tartness of it. Apples were never a springtime fruit in District 12. I pushed Gale out of my mind, and re-focussed on Haymitch.

How many times did he lie to me? To Peeta? To the two of us? It seems now that they were under orders not to rescue Peeta, and how sad was that? What would have happened if Peeta and I had both been rescued? Would we have followed up the passion on the beach and truly been lovers now? Would I have been driven to kill Snow? Would Prim have been in the Capitol during that fateful time?

The domino effect. I understood it now.

I hate Plutarch because it's evident that he is laying the groundwork to exonerate himself just as he accused Coin, and he probably would. He had a way of spinning everything to his own advantage. As to Beetee, well, I wish I had never met him.

Finally, I crossed the threshold into the little cabin. The hearth still had the remnants of the last fire laid in it — charred wood and ash, but no way of knowing who had lit the fire. The furnishings are simple, modest to the extreme but it has a homey feeling to it. I sat on the hearth and considered that I could quite possibly live here, away from people and problems, but most of all, heartaches.

Eventually, my thoughts move to Peeta, not just fleeting moments, but full-on consideration of Peeta and what had happened. By this morning, there is no doubt in my mind that Peeta has withdrawn from me. I've considered all possible angles, but realized it must be that he still is unable to trust me. Without trust, well, what is the point?

One way or another, we will need to resolve it. If he can't trust me, then we both must find a new path. Friendship is not an option because it would be a reminder of my failure forever. All or nothing.

My anger toward Peeta's lack of trust and communication was palpable. Maybe we were pushing too far too fast. Maybe he doesn't really feel anything he once did for me. There are a thousand maybes, and each one caused me more frustration than the previous one.

A solid hour later, I moved outside to the lake. It was still relatively early, but I took off my shoes and socks and pressed my toes in the water. It was still icy cold but it felt invigorating and I wished it was just a little warmer. I remembered the promise I made to Peeta to teach him to fish and swim, and wondered whether I would have a chance to keep that promise.

Maybe I should leave 12 for awhile, the summer maybe. I could go see Annie, and Mom of course. Annie's baby is due soon. The thought leaves me with all kinds of guilt. Finn should have survived but he died protecting me from the mutts, and another child will grow up without a father. Annie. How is she holding up? Really. Finn was her anchor. The person who kept her grounded in reality. I did not know her well, and with Finn around, it was difficult but she was very nice.

On the other hand, I could visit Jo for awhile. She had traveled from 13 to the Capitol, but was back home now. District 7 had plenty of woods, pine trees, hard woods and the like.

Even when I can travel, though, I know that home will always be here. My woods is where I draw my strength — the glory of the nearby mountains to the beauty of the sunsets.

My feet were sufficiently numb now, and I moved back and wiped the sand off before pulling on my socks. A few feet in, I saw the outline of a small fish and decided to bring some home for supper. There's an old pole in the corner of the cabin and I went to get it.

Lake fishing takes far more patience than river or stream fishing. I walked along the edge until I came to a willow tree which overhung the lake. For the first hour, I casted the hook which had a single yellow feather attached, but came up with nothing. No bites. Finally I stepped back to the spongey area a few feet away and scrubbed at the earth. A few attempts later, and the object of my search was uncovered. I dragged the worm from the dirt, attached it to the hook, and casted once more.

Within a minute, I felt the sharp tug and pulled out a beautiful catfish. Removing it from the hook, I placed it in my game bag and lay the bag in the shallows. It took several hours but eventually I had enough fish for a few meals. It was late afternoon when I headed back, and early evening when I entered the perimeter of Victor's Village.

I heard the caterwauling first. It sounded like screeching. But the closer I got, the more I could make out the words of the an old song, as two voices attempted to blend and not very well. That's when I saw them, Peeta and Haymitch sitting together on Haymitch's porch, obviously drunk. I had never seen Peeta drunk before. As I approached and saw the silly grin on his face, I wasn't sure I was entirely happy with drunk Peeta.

They finished the song while I stood there.

"Hey boy, there's the ball and chain now." I sucked in my breath and realized that obviously he and Peeta had been discussing me, and probably in a derogatory way.

"Kat-nisssss," Peeta slurred. "Where've youuuu beeen?"

I reached into the bag and showed him a fish. "Ohhhhhh, youuuu were gonnnnaa shooowwww meeee how to fi-ssssh." He looked like he was going to cry.

"I'm going to go clean them and then fry them up for supper. It'll be ready in about an hour." I turned to leave.

"There you go boy, better go home to mommy." Haymitch chided.

I turned on him then. In that moment I had never hated him more. Hated him for mocking me. Hated him for feeding whatever was bothering Peeta. Hated him for the lies he told us. Hated him most for getting Peeta drunk. "I thought you both might be hungry. I guess I shouldn't have assumed. Peeta is free to do as he chooses. I have no hold on him." Peeta's mouth dropped, and Haymitch narrowed his eyes, but neither said anything.

An hour later, the table was set with three plates but I ate alone. I cleaned up and worked on the book, and then went to bed only to be awakened just before one o'clock. My heart was pounding and my skin clammy. I had the beginnings of a headache and decided I better take one of the special tablets that Dr. Aurelius prescribed to avoid migraines.

Peeta is not in bed, and when I get to the hall, there's no light under his studio door. He's most likely passed out at Haymitch's house. They had sung most of the night, but around eleven o'cock, the noise had stopped. As I made my way downstairs, I considered going over and checking on him but after Haymitch's comments, I felt it was better not to.

I was standing in the kitchen, a glass of water in hand, when I heard a ruckus on the front porch. I hurried to the living room and opened the front door.

"Here you go, Sweetheart," Haymitch nearly yells, "bundled up and delivered to your front door. I've brought the little man home to you safe and sound." True enough, Peeta was there slumped between Haymitch who is drunk, and a rather sober-looking Thom. Peeta's shirt was unbuttoned partly, and his head lolled on his shoulders, his chin on his chest. There's a great deal of vomit on his stomach and pants.

They started to move forward, when I saw something in the dim light that flowed from the door. I stepped forward and chucked my hand under Peeta's chin, and saw four distinct bruises on his neck. I glanced toward Haymitch, who smirked at me, and Thom who didn't meet my eyes.

"Kat-nissssss," Peeta slurs.

I stepped back, trying desperately to control my emotions. Peeta had obviously found his way to the arms of some other woman tonight.

"Step aside, Sweetheart, this boy is damn heavy."

I shook my head no. "Take him to his own home."

"Sweetheart …"

But I cut him off, "No Haymitch, his own home or back where he got those hickeys. Your choice, but not here."

Haymitch stood there for several seconds as if he's trying to figure me out. The tears were threatening to spill now.

"Katniss," it's Thom's low friendly voice. "I know you're upset, but I can explain it all. Let me just get him home and then come back, okay? Haymitch, I think you better get on home, I got Peeta. You done enough for one night."

Haymitch pulled away and steadies himself. Then he turned on his heal and walked out.

Thom pulled Peeta out the door. "Whhhheeerrreee we going, Thommmm?"

"Your house," I hear Thom say.

"But that's my houssssseeeee," Peeta says sounding confused. "I livvvvveeeee with Kat-nissssssss."

I shut the door, and let the tears fall.


	9. Confrontation - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post a "half-chapter" to put some minds at least partially at ease. The remaining part of the chapter will be posted in a few days.
> 
> As always, the Hunger Games characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins.

I can't even make it to the couch before the sobs start and I find myself sitting on the floor. I hate this feeling. I should never have tried to move forward with Peeta, and realize that my own selfishness to have Peeta back, has led me here.  
  
I'm also angry though. Angry at Peeta for not being able to tell me why he was upset. Angry at Haymitch for not knowing enough to keep Peeta sober. Angry at myself for caring. If I'm perfectly honest, I'm mostly angry that Peeta was with some other girl. It bothers me more than I ever thought possible. True he was drunk, but I didn't want to think about him kissing some other girl when we had just resumed that ourselves.    
  
I looked toward the fireplace and noticed the painting of us on the beach. Who was I kidding? Moving in together was probably the worst idea I had ever had, and Peeta had tried to warn me. Maybe he felt pressured to be something more to me or for us to mean something more to each other.  
  
I heard a quick knock, and Thom walked in without waiting for an invitation. He doffed his cap, and stood in the door to the living room.  
  
"Katniss? May I come in?"  
  
I nod.  
  
"Katniss, I know what you saw looks pretty bad, but I have to tell you how it happened and you can go from there. Okay?"  
  
I nod again.  
  
"Haymitch and Peeta got down to the Seam at about 11:30. Peeta was struggling to stay upright. I heard them laughing and carrying on, and figured it was no good for Peeta. Well, the Seam is where most folks are settling these days, what with the town being pretty much still in bad shape. We've had some rowdies come in from other districts and they keep a bon fire burning most of the night. So I stepped to the door and watched Haymitch pulling Peeta over to the fire, and he was talking loud and saying, 'the boy drank all my good whiskey, so we need some of that turpentine you got here.'  
  
"Well, Ripper is back, and soon had two bottles in hand and gave them over to Haymitch, who pulled the cork, and swallowed a couple of gulps, and then exhaled loud and could barely even talk. He did manage to pass the bottle to Peeta though, and before I could get to him, Peeta tipped the bottle and swallowed a couple mouthfuls, and then went into a coughing fit. Haymitch doubled over laughing at Peeta and he thought it was pretty funny when Peeta straightened a bit, said your name and passed out dead drunk."  
  
Peeta's clothes had been a sight, dusty and dirty, and a bit muddy even.  
  
"I picked him up and carried him to my house and laid him on my bed, and went out to give Haymitch hell for doing that to a boy like Peeta. I wasn't out of the house more than five minutes or so, and when I stepped back in, well, there she was."  
  
I could feel myself stiffen, not sure I wanted to hear about his dalliance.  
  
"There's this woman from 13 who had been flirting with Peeta for the past week or so, ever since she got here. Peeta never was more than polite, and he likely did not even realize she was flirting."  
  
"Until tonight," I interject.  
  
"Well, Katniss, probably worse than usual tonight. She was trying to kiss him, and sucking on his neck and all, but he was dead drunk. Never felt a thing. She was sitting across his legs  but he was just out cold, kind of mumbling something once and awhile."  
  
I quirk my eyebrow at him. Thom is Seam and he has no reason to lie to me; however, it seems odd that Peeta would have been conveniently asleep while some woman accosted him.  
  
"It's the truth. I walked in and told her to get the hell off of him, and she just got all angry with me and told me to mind my own business. She got really loud, and that kind of woke him up and he started to sit up and say your name, and she grabbed him and put her mouth on his. His eyes kind of shot open and he vomited right into her mouth. It was … pretty awful," he finished lamely.  
  
I couldn't help it. A smile was spreading, and I was biting my cheek to suppress it, but a full on laugh was bubbling up inside because I knew that Thom was not capable of making up such a story. I covered my mouth and tried to hold back, but I was literally snorting when I considered what had happened. Thom started to laugh too, and soon we were on the floor, laughing so hard we could no longer stand.  
  
"She … she … she…" Thom could not even finish the story.  
  
Every time we thought we were under control, one of us would start to giggle again, and the other would follow suit.  
  
Finally Thom finished, "She was absolutely horrified. Her whole face was covered and she was spitting it out, and Peeta had just flopped back again. I told her to get the hell out and she left. Got to the door and vomited in the little garden by the house. I helped Peeta outside again, and Haymitch came over and I gave him a piece of my mind. He seemed to think it was funny and that it would be good to rile you up."  
  
That piece of information stops me dead. Haymitch wants to get to me, and he did. He wants to see me angry and flustered. Proving a point? He was always playing some kind of game, and I don't have the patience to consider his motivation or what he wanted me to glean from this. Maybe he just wanted me to be angry with Peeta instead of him.  
  
"Thank you, Thom." I feel like I haven't slept in days.  
  
"I hope you don't take too much of Peeta's hide over this." He's smiling just a bit.  
  
"Oh not too much. By the way, what is the girl's name?"  
  
"Girl?" Thom is a bit confused looking. "Oh the woman?" I nod, feeling confused myself.  
  
"Eunice Bowers." As an afterthought he adds, "She lives in a tent down by the slag heap."  
  
"Seems appropriate."  
  
"Yep, I would agree." He smiles again, and heads for the door.  
  
A few hours pass before I decide to walk over to Peeta's. One way or another, we are going to settle this today. I'm still angry, but I have a few things to do and a plan is formulating in my head. I let myself into Peeta's and find him passed out on the couch. His bad leg bent at an uncomfortable angle.  
  
I slip off his prosthetic and lift his good leg up and place it on the couch. His clothes reek but I don't particularly want to change him. The pattern of the vomit clearly indicates where she was sitting. She must have wiped her face with her hands and then put them on his hips to get off of him. I inspect the bruising on his neck. They've deepened since I saw them earlier.  
  
I walk to the closet and find a bucket and place it by the couch. Satisfied for the moment that he is fine, I walk out of the house and toward the Seam. Dawn is just breaking but I have something to do and I don't want to wait for a decent time.  
  
I walk by the familiar houses toward the mine entrance which has been dynamited and boarded over. My steps take me to the tent pitched by the slag heap.  
  
"Hello?" I call and wait. A minute slips by so I call again, and then there's rustling inside. A head pokes out and the eyes go wide.  
  
"I'm looking for Eunice," I say to the face.  
  
"Whatcha want?"  
  
"Are you Eunice?" I ask.  
  
She looks over her shoulder back into the tent, and then trundles out and walks several yards from the tent front. "I'm Eunice," she says.  
  
I'm rather shocked by her appearance. She's tall, rather large, and  well, rather old, at least for Peeta, in my opinion. She's easily on the other side of thirty-five, and her hair looks like she might have recently come into contact with electricity. I have to wonder if Thom was making up a story last night to save Peeta's skin.  
  
I forge ahead anyway. "Eunice Bowers?" I hold out my hand, and she looks at me uncertainly but I wait until she takes it limply in her own. "I'm Katniss Everdeen."  
  
"I know who you are," and for the first time, she fidgets and looks around nervously.  
  
"Good. You know Peeta, as well?" My voice is even.  
  
She nods once and looks down.  
  
"A mite better after last night, I would guess," I have smile on my face and for the first time notice the stains on her neck and dress front. Stains similar to Peeta's.  
  
She looks away again, at the trees and the other houses, probably wondering what I'm there for but doesn't deny it.  
  
"I heard that you were taking advantage of Peeta in a drunken state." Her eyes visibly widen again. "Is that true?" No response. "I said, is that true?"  
  
"He weren't drunk, he wanted it. Told me I could come live with him in that house of his." She's nervous and the words run together.  
  
"Did he now?" My gaze is steady. "Awfully nice of him. What else did he promise you?"  
  
She looks away at that point, and then her eyes dart back. "Why should you care? It was all fake anyway. He never loved you, he told me that. You never loved him either."  
  
Like the good hunter I am, I know when prey is about to be caught. "Oh, he told you that? When?"  
  
"The other day in town." I raise my eyebrow. "Three days ago. He told me all about it."  
  
My eyes narrow at her, and though I'm a few inches shorter, and several pounds lighter, she takes an involuntary step back. "Three days ago? You lying piece of shit. Three days ago, Peeta and I spent the day moving all his belongings into my house." She takes another step back. "Now, since you know who I am, you must also know that I'm fiercely protective of what's mine, and Peeta is mine. I didn't hesitate to kill in two separate arenas for him, and if you think I will hesitate now, then you are sadly mistaken."  
  
Every step that she has taken to distance herself from me resulted in me taking a similar one toward her, and genuine fear is evident in her eyes. "You stay the hell away from him, or by god, you better have eyes in the back of your head. You understand?"  
  
She nods once.  
  
"You better never lie about him again, either, or I will hunt you down and you will wish that you never set foot in District 12. Got it?"  
  
She nods a little frantically. I turn to leave. "You are psychotic," she mumbles.  
  
I turn back and I can feel the smile return, "Maybe … or maybe not, but I wouldn't trust me if you try any shit with Peeta again."  
  
Behind her a man appears and a little girl. He's looking at me tiredly.  
  
"Mama?" the little girl calls.  
  
I turn and walk away, past the familiar houses. Thom is waiting for me at the far end.  
  
"Talk to Eunice?"  
  
"I did."  
  
"Reach an understanding?"  
  
"Yes. I believe so."  
  
He smiles at me as we walk through town. "Who's the man with her?"  
  
"Husband, I believe. The little girl calls her Mama."  
  
"Hope he figures out the kind of woman she is. Looks like she's just trying to climb out of that tent, and into something better, with or without her man." Thom nods in agreement.  
  
Back in the village, I walk to Haymitch's place next. I let myself in and he's sleeping at the table as expected. I pull the knife from his hand, and come up behind him, running my arm around his neck. I pull tightly and wait for him to awaken or pass out. When he wakes up, he attempts to stand but can't because I've nearly squeezed the life out of him.  
  
"Haymitch, listen to me. You were our mentor, supposed to protect us. You made promises, hid facts, and lied to us, and I might forgive you for all that, but you better never let Peeta drink again, or I will kill you with my own hands. Dr. Aurelius said he could have a bad flashback under the influence of alcohol, and I'm just hoping he doesn't because if he hurts himself … so help me, I will kill you."  
  
I release the hold, and back away. I'm headed for the door when I hear him call, "Sweetheart …" but I keep walking.  
  
Peeta's house is across from mine. I stop in my house, and grab some fruit for breakfast before I head to his house. I let myself in, and find that he is pretty much in the same position I left him a few hours earlier. Positioning myself against the wall straight across from him, I wait for him to wake up.  
  
Dr. Aurelius told me during one of my first phone sessions that Peeta needs very specific things to keep the episodes at bay. He needs plenty of rest, no stress and no alcohol which changes the brain and is not something that Peeta can afford to have happen. Then there are the potential triggers to avoid, which I have dealt with a few times now, and have learned to handle. The likelihood that he will have an episode today is fairly high. It's also possible that he might become very violent, so I decide to at least eliminate the fatigue factor and reduce the odds of an episode.  
  
I'm exhausted too, and my eyelids are heavy. I try to stay awake but eventually I sleep. When I wake, it's mid-morning and I'm stiff and unsure what woke me, until I hear him moan again. It's a low guttural moan of pain. Peeta appears to be moving in slow motion, he attempts to sit up and then collapses backward. A distinct groan this time.  
  
He's wretching, and I rush to guide him to the bucket on the floor. For several minutes, he gags, and his shoulders hunch and he clings to the bucket on the floor as only bile presents itself. I rub his back for a few minutes and then I get a cloth from the bathroom to wipe his face.  
  
He's sitting on the floor pathetically. His good leg bent with his foot planted on the floor. His other leg lies straight from his body. Peeta's shoulders are hunched and his chin rests on his chest. His eyes are closed.  
  
"I-I-I," he's stutters, "c-c-c-can't open m-m-my eyes w-w-without th-th-the r-r-room t-t-taking off."  
  
I sigh, loud and long. I've never heard him this way, and it frightens me. "Peeta, we need to get these clothes off you and get you into a tub of water, okay? Just keep your eyes shut. I will help you, okay?"  
  
He nods, as I begin to remove his shirt, wanting to distance myself from some of the smell before we go to the small bathroom on this level.  
  
"Peeta, I'm going to get you a glass of water. You need to drink it so that you have something in your stomach." Another slight nod. I get the water and he takes it shakily and drinks it all down. What was Haymitch thinking? The Capitol liquor is one thing, but the stuff Ripper sells can take the paint off the side of a building, I've seen it.  
  
"Wait here," I say. It's not like he has much choice, any movement is likely to upset his stomach and his other leg is lying at the foot end of the couch. Not sure he can even see it from here.  
  
I rush to the study, and pick up the phone. I have two numbers memorized and I debate which one to call. Finally, I punch in one, and wait. The phone rings several times and I'm just ready to hang up when I hear a distant, "Hello?"  
  
"Mom?" I pull on my braid.  
  
"Katniss?" she sounds worried.  
  
"Yeah Mom, it's me."  
  
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"  
  
"I'm fine, Mom. Listen, Peeta, ummm. Haymitch gave Peeta liquor last night, and then some of Ripper's home brew and he's sick this morning."  
  
"Oh my God," Mom says reflexively. "Ripper's stuff is bad, very bad. It's blinded more than one person."  
  
This I did not know, and it frightens me because I think of what he just said about opening his eyes. I think of Tero, the blind guy who used to stumble around the Seam or the others I saw through the years, and assumed it was mining related.  
  
"Mom he said he can't open his eyes because the room is … taking off."  
  
I'm surprised to hear Mom chuckle. "Well, he's not blind, just disoriented. Sounds like he's lost his equilibrium."  
  
"What do I do, Mom? He's vomiting and shaking, and he's stuttering." My voice is rising in panic.  
  
This time I hear her sigh. "There's a few things but mostly he will need to work it out of his system. Haymitch can play Russian Roulette with Ripper's liquor, but he should not involve Peeta."  
  
I nod before remembering I'm on the phone.  
  
"First of all, he needs plenty of water. Then, I've heard that bananas are a good thing because he's lost potassium and he needs a boost.  
  
"Kathiss?" It's Peeta, and I cover the mouthpiece of the phone. "I need to pee. Should I use the bucket?" My nose wrinkles, but it's for the best because I don't really want to hold him while he pees.  
  
"Yes, Peeta, the bucket."  
  
"Is he there with you?"  
  
"I'm at his house," I say and am a bit relieved that I don't have to disclose that normally he would be at my house.  
  
"Okay. Next, you will need to brew some ginger root tea. There should be some at home. Add some honey to take away the bitterness. It should help with the nausea."  
  
"All right."  
  
"Then, he should get some rest, oh and some aspirin will help too."  
  
"Thanks, Mom. I'll call you soon." It's kind of an unceremonious end to the conversation, but I don't have time for anything else. I want to get Peeta back to himself quickly.  
  
I rush back to the living room and pick up the glass and refill it.  
  
"Peeta, I have to go to my house and get some stuff to help you get better. I'll be back."  
  
I start for the door. "Wait … I'm … your house?"  
  
It's not a good time to discuss everything, "We'll talk later, okay?" and I'm on my way to my house. I grab the ginger root, honey, aspirin and bananas that we bought the other day.  
  
Arriving back in his living room, I see him bent over the bucket again, with clear water running from his mouth. I refill the glass and hand him two aspirins. He's shaking when he takes them from me, and can barely lift his hand to his mouth. "Here's a banana," I say, and then notice the stench from the bucket. It turns my stomach, but I grab it quickly and hurry to the door and dump it outside.  
  
Coming back inside, I notice that his pants are undone. "Zip up, Peeta," I say it automatically, although I realize in just a few minutes we are going to attempt to get him in a bath, and really it won't matter then. He complies, and sits quietly. I take the bucket to the bathroom and rinse it out, and bring it back to him.  
  
I go to the kitchen and put water on to boil, along with the ginger roots. It only takes a few minutes and the tea is ready. I add plenty of honey to take the edge off and bring him a steaming cup.  
  
His hands still visibly shake and the liquid threatens to spill, so I help him steady it, cautioning that it is very hot. He blows tentatively on it, and then sips. It takes several minutes for him to drink the whole cup, but finally it's down. Peeta still sits dejectedly, not speaking, and I wonder if this is from the liquor or a carry over from what has been happening the past two days.  
  
"You think you can stand?" He nods. "I'm going to help you to the bathroom." I help him to his feet, and we hobble to the bathroom, as I help steady the side with the missing limb. His new prosthetic is very nice and looks real, but when I removed it, you could see where it was chafing. They have also prepared his leg for a new one that will be more or less permanent, and that probably causes him pain too, although he doesn't complain.  
  
We manage to get to the bathroom and I sit him down on toilet as I start the water. I test the temperature and decide that it feels about right. Peeta still sits fully clothed and shaking slightly.  
  
"Do you need help?" No response. I reach for him and began pulling his t-shirt off. Definitely not one I would save to wear later. I loosen the belt on his pants and realize that it's an incredibly intimate gesture, but since Peeta is not helping I have no choice. I unbutton his pants, and unzip them. Before he stands, I pull his sock off. Then I help him to his feet and his pants drop to his ankle. I debate his underwear for a minute and finally tug them down and then seat him again to pull them off his ankle.  
  
He stands again and then just as I'm debating getting him in the tub, he sits on the edge and swings his good leg over the side and lowers himself in.  
  
"I will be right back." All of his toiletries and clothes are at my house, so I run over and grab his shampoo, soap, deodorant, towel and clothes. Deodorant is not something that many men, or women for that matter, in District 12 use with any regularity.  
  
When I return, he's sitting in water to his chest, his eyes closed. He jumps when I speak.  
  
"Here you go," I hand him the soap and shampoo but makes no effort to clean himself.  
  
"Okay, here we go," I say as I take the soap in hand and run the bar across his chest and stomach. I notice his blond chest hairs and the slim trail that leads downward from his belly button. There's hair on his legs and around the base of his penis too. I remember being surprised in the first arena, and now I'm equally surprised because, for whatever reason, my body is free of hair. I haven't had hair since the last arena.  
  
I soap up my hands and wash his back and then tell him to wash under his own arms and his "other" parts. He does so wordlessly, and I grab the shampoo and wash his hair.  
  
"Now finish your face, and you can get out."  
  
I've tried to keep my mind focussed on cleaning him up, but my heart is racing and I need to leave the room before I say or do something I will regret.  
  
"Can you manage to dress on your own?" I ask as I seat him back on the toilet. He nods.  
  
I step outside the door and try to arrest my drumming heart. After a few minutes, I hear Peeta call, "Okay."  
  
I step back inside and we hobble to the couch, where he runs his fingers through his hair and I realize I forgot a comb. "I'll get a comb in a minute," I say. "How are you feeling?"  
  
He looks at me. "Fine."  
  
"Okay. Peeta, we need to talk, and I don't know when the right time will be but it's got to be today sometime, okay? I will be over at my house, whenever you are ready." I move to leave.  
  
"Your house? I thought you said it was 'our house.'" His voice sounds angry.  
  
"Ever since you moved in, you seemed like you would rather be somewhere else, and that's why we need to talk."  
  
He looks away then, "Is that why I'm here then and not there?"  
  
I'm surprised by this statement. "Do you remember last night?"  
  
"I got drunk," he pauses. "So I'm here because I was drunk?"  
  
"No, the drunkenness I could take," I draw in a breath because even though Thom told me, and Eunice more or less confirmed, I still feel uncertain. "It was those marks on your neck and your shirt undone." His hand goes to his neck, amazingly to one of the exact spots, and his eyes widen. "I will be at home."  
  
"Katniss, wait!"  
  
But I'm already out the door and crossing to my house. Once inside, I begin to straighten things and dust, keeping myself occupied, and pushing back the thought that Peeta might not come over.


	10. Confrontation - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings are the property of Suzanne Collins.

An hour passes and most of a second, and I've pretty much given up hope when I hear his step on the front porch, followed by a knock. I open the door, "Peeta, you don't have to …" but I see his face, and he's been crying. He's buttoned his shirt all the way up and lifted the collar. I step aside and he walks forward but stops just inside the door.

"Katniss, I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry for shutting you out, and for getting drunk, and for this." He gestures to his neck. "I don't know how I got them or from who, and that's no excuse. Neither is the fact that I was drinking. I'm sorry." There are tears in his eyes. On impulse, I walk to him and hug him. At first his arms hang loosely but then he he grabs me tightly and we stand, holding each other for several minutes. Finally, I step away and gesture to the sofa.

He moves over and sits, his head in his hands, probably still feeling the results of the liquor.

"Peeta, I know you don't trust me," his head snaps up and he looks at me with disbelief. "But I …"

"Why do you say that? I trust you!"

"Peeta, you've been acting different since we talked about our first time together." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I know you didn't believe me when I said that you were the only one but you are. I've never done that with anyone else, and I really don't know how to make you believe me."

"I believe you. Why wouldn't I believe you?"

"Peeta, I heard you talking with Dr. Aurelius the other day, and you said you wanted him to find out about the 'only.'"

He's shaking his head vehemently now, "No, Katniss. No, you misunderstood me. I was talking about … Oh God! It wasn't you. It wasn't your only. It was … my only." He finishes, and his shoulders begin to shake as sobs wrack his body.

At first I don't understand. His only? Then it dawns on me, I'm not Peeta's only. He's been with another or possibly others, and I feel a little sick, and I need to leave. I always knew it was a possibility but never considered that it might be a reality. I stand slowly, my mind taking it in, this is worse than the hickeys. This is … but then I freeze. I was his first right before the Quell, and he has already told me there was no one in the Capitol, so someone in 13?

"Who was it, Peeta?" the question slips out before I can stop it.

"I-I-I-I don't know. I-I-I-I'm not even sure there was anyone else."

Now I'm confused, "Peeta, slow down," I walk over to where he's sitting and pull him into my arms hoping to get him under control. It takes several minutes but finally he's quieted enough to talk.

"Katniss, I have had this … I don't know if you can properly call it a … a flashback. It's a woman, I think a guard, and she's in my cell, and she's telling me that she's going to make me forget, and she disappears but I can hear her voice and feel her hands, and I tell her no … but I don't remember! I don't know if I did anything or not, and I hate it. I hate not knowing and I hate that I might have done something." He's tugging at his hair, and I bring my hands to his and pull them down.

Relief, that's what I feel. "But why were you pulling away from me?"

"Because I didn't want you to know. I'm so ashamed of myself, Katniss. So ashamed. I asked Dr. Aurelius to review the tapes and the written records that he recently uncovered, to see if someone might have noted something. Even if he doesn't find it though, it still might have happened, and I hate myself for that."

"Peeta, if someone did this to you, against your will, you can't help it. It's not your fault. We need to be able to talk to each other. I need to know what they did to you so that I can help you."

He lifts his head and we stare into each others eyes for a minute before he's satisfied that I'm telling the truth and not just saying it to make him feel better, and for the first time in nearly three days, we hug with feeling. "I love you, you know." He says it softly, and I nod.

"I know, Peeta. Me too." The words just don't want to leave my mouth yet, but he sighs contentedly anyway.

The phone rings, and we both startle. "That's him now. He said he would call today if he found something." There's real fear in his eyes. "Come with me, Katniss. I want you to hear too."

My mind is in turmoil. I should have guessed that they would have used some kind of sexual torture with Peeta after hearing Finn's story, but I had hoped we got him out soon enough.

Peeta picks up the phone and confirms it's Dr. Aurelius, and lets him know that I'm in the room, as well. Then he puts the phone on speaker, so we both can listen.

"Peeta, I had my assistants read through all the written documentation of your time here in the Capitol. We came across a single entry of the event in question."

"Oh god," Peeta says, clasping my hand more tightly.

"I will read it for you when you are ready."

Peeta's leg bounces nervously. "Go ahead." His head is down, and his breathing is rapid.

"Okay, this was written by Dr. Jacobi, who administered the majority of the torture, about one week before you were rescued. Here is the entry in its totality. 'Subject Peeta Mellark exhibits an unusually strong will when subjected to normal levels of tracker jacker venom. Mellark was earlier exposed to venom in the arena of the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Because the stingers were not removed readily, he potentially built a resistance to the venom.

"'We are making little or no forward progress in altering his memories of Katniss Everdeen. A discussion with the team has led to the possibility of introducing a sexual surrogate to Mellark. The surrogate has been physically altered to resemble Everdeen, and the experiment will be conducted this evening.'"

"Oh God. They gave me someone who looked like Katniss?"

"There's more, Peeta. 'Notation amended at 16:42. Sexual surrogate, a twenty-two-year-old Avox, was found dead in her cell approximately twenty minutes ago. The team is working to devise an alternative. Notation amended at 19:17. Female guard, Maryan Bowers, who has been instrumental in the torture of subject Johanna Mason, has agreed to step in and assist with the sexual aspect of the tonight's session, which will include near lethal dosages of tracker jacker venom that we previously had considered too dangerous to the subject's life. It is, however, believed that if he survives, his memories will be permanently altered to the point where he will kill Everdeen on first sight.

"'Conclusion: Session is considered a successful failure. Bowers entered his cell, and attempted to seduce him first through visual stimulation and then manual manipulation of his penis; however, Mellark showed unusual resolve and would not look at her, closing his eyes instead. He had been previously stripped and secured to his cot; however, when Edwards attempted to manipulate him, Mellark resorted to biting the inside of his cheek until blood was evident running from the corners of his mouth.

"'At this point, tracker jacker venom was introduced at levels of ninety-seven percent toxicity. Mellark seized on his cot, and life saving efforts were introduced. As the venom took hold, the altered scenes were introduced and we finally have broken his will. By morning, a mere photo of Everdeen produced extreme paranoia. The next several days will be spent refining the reaction.'"

Hearing the account first hand has caused my blood to run cold and I shiver involuntarily. Tears flow down my cheeks, and I'm biting back sobs. I look to Peeta, whose reaction is not what I expected. His face is determined.

"I did nothing then? That's the only one, and I did nothing, right?"

"That's right, Peeta. But understand, if you would have 'done something,' it would not have been your fault anyway."

"Yeah. Yeah. Thank you, Dr. Aurelius. You have no idea, no idea, what this means to me." Peeta punches the "Goodbye" button before Dr. Aurelius can respond.

"Oh God, Katniss. I'm so sorry. I should have told you in the beginning, but I thought you would be disgusted with me, and …"

Before he can say anything else, my lips crash into his, and after a moment's hesitation, he's responding and deepening the kiss. His arms hold me tightly, and I'm lost for the time being.

Our kisses slow eventually, and Peeta says, "Do you want me to move out?"

I shake my head vigorously. "No, Peeta. I want you … need you to stay."

"But this," he gestures to his neck.

I can't hide the smile that creeps across my face.

"What?"

"Ummm, I know how that happened," I gesture to his neck.

"You?" He says in a shocked tone.

"No! I wouldn't do something like that to you when you couldn't remember." He looks confused.

"Do you know a woman by the name of Eunice Bow … " I stop as the name sinks in, "ers … Bowers." It hits me then, a coincidence that the name matches the guard in Peeta's cell? But Peeta nods and frowns slightly, distracting my thoughts. I decide to backup slightly. "Do you remember going to Haymitch's yesterday?" He nods again and groans.

"I'm sorry, Katniss, I went there for advice and he suggested a drink, and oh God, sorry Katniss. I'm so sorry." I have to admit, when Peeta apologizes, he really seems to mean it. "I never planned to get drunk, I just wanted to know what I should tell you."

"What did Haymitch say?"

"He told me it was better not to tell you anything because it didn't matter anyway. I should have just followed my instincts and told you. I hated the wedge I was driving between us."

"Peeta, if anything is going to come of this, we have to start trusting each other to listen, even if it might be something the other one doesn't want to hear." He nods, and leans in for a soft kiss.

"Okay, so what time did you get there"

"Around four o'clock."

"Do you remember when I arrived with the fish?" He frowns, thinks and shakes his head dejectedly.

"You brought fish? For supper?"

"Yeah, I told you guys an hour, but you never came. I went to bed around ten, and you and Haymitch were still singing."

"Singing? Sorry."

"Then around eleven, you guys stopped singing. Thom said you arrived in the Seam a bit later, and Haymitch went to Ripper for some more liquor."

"I might be lucky to be alive," he groans.

"Thom said you took a swallow or two, and then passed out. He took you inside and laid you down, and went back out to tell Haymitch something. When he got back, Eunice Bowers was sitting on top of you, kissing you…"

"Eunice Bowers?" he gasps as I nod. "Eunice? With the …," he gestures wide around his head indicating her hair, "and the …," his hands gesture to his stomach area. I nod. "She was kissing me?" Again, I nod. "I was kissing her?" He seems genuinely horrified now, and I shake my head.

"Thom said you were out cold, but when he told her to get off, she refused. At some point you came to and promptly got sick on her."

"I threw up on her?" he asks incredulously.

"Seems so," I said, not trying to hide my amusement. "Thom and Haymitch brought you home and when I saw the marks, I told them to bring you to your house."

"Eunice ..." and he shivers openly.

I laugh at this. "Peeta, there's something else you need to know." He looks at me questioningly. "I may have … gone this morning to where she lives, and I may have threatened her."

"Threatened her?" A smile toying at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes. Nothing much, just that if I know that she's been around you, I will kill her."

He rubs a knuckle across his mouth. "She's … ummm … not my type, you know."

"You have a type?" I tease. "Let me guess, blonde, blue-eyed, winning smile."

"Not quite. I prefer brunettes, with olive skin and gray eyes. My dream girl is independent, stubborn, at home in the woods or on stage. She can wear designer fashions or modern day huntress. Her smile is genuine and her wit is sarcastic. She's fiercely loyal and incredibly blunt, and my feeling is, when she loves me, she will love me unconditionally. Remind you of anyone?" He's moved close, and his hands are wrapped around my waist, his lips are mere inches from mine, and my heart is racing.

"Mmmm … sounds like a tough person to love."

"Oh, she is, but she owns my heart and I think that I might be close to attaining hers. What do you think?" He's smiling now.

"I think that's a possibility." His eyes widen, and within seconds we're kissing fiercely again. My hand knots in his shirt, as he pulls my hips flush with his. We move backward toward the couch, and as my knees touch, I fall and land on my back with Peeta on top. I feel the hunger build just as it did on the beech.

Our kisses become needy. We are both panting, as we begin thrusting our hips into one another. I feel his erection through his pants, and shift slightly so that it hits me perfectly as we grind together.

Peeta untucks my shirt and begins to unbutton it, and my patience is stretched. "Peeta, just pull it off." He looks surprised, but he does and I'm under him with just my bra. He pulls back to look, but I pull him to me and reach for his shirt and pull it up until he finally pulls it over his head. I run my hand over his chest, my eyes narrowing at the marks on his neck. Peeta flushes.

"Don't …" His eyes are pleading.

"Then you better take my mind off them!" He grins, and quickly places his lips over mine. I feel his tongue swipe my lower lip and I open my mouth for him. His tongue slips in and massages mine, and an unexpected moan escapes me. I feel Peeta smile against my lips.

His hands slide toward my bra, and then stop, as his thumbs lightly touch the fabric. He rests them there, as I tangle my hands in his soft curls. He pulls away abruptly but leans his head on my forehead, his eyes searching mine.

"I'm nervous," he confesses.

"Why?"

His laugh is low, and he closes his eyes, "Ummm, well first off, I can't believe that this is actually happening. I mean, you're Katniss Everdeen." I laugh and shake my head at his confession. "No really, if you only knew how many times I … dreamed of this." He kisses me lightly. "I mean, is this really real?"

"Real, Peeta," and I kiss him back with obvious passion before he breaks away again.

"Well, that brings us to the next … obstacle … if you will." I raise my eyebrows at him. "I'm not, how shall I say this? I'm not the … most experienced man in … pleasuring a woman." He drops his eyes. "I know we've slept together but I don't remember that very well either."

"Peeta, I'm not experienced either, you know. I've never really been touched by anyone other than you, and …" it's my turn to be shy. "I've never touched a guy either other than you."

"Do you want to?" Peeta asks quietly. "I mean do you want to touch me."

I hesitate a moment, but then answer truthfully. "Yes. Do you want to touch me?"

"God yes!" No hesitation.

"Well, we're in this together Peeta, why don't we just kind of explore each other. If you want to do something, just do it and we'll figure out together what feels good, and how we want to be touched."

Relief washes over his face, and he nods his head vigorously, as he amends, "And if we don't know something, we can ask."

I smile and nod, and wonder if anyone else has ever set these kind of ground rules for sex.

"Ummm …" he gestures toward my bra.

"Just pull it off over my head." He nods and slides his thumbs under the sides, and gently tugs it upward as I help by extending my arms over my head. His breath intakes sharply.

"God, your beautiful," he breathes, and he reaches for me hesitantly. In that moment, I know that love is absolutely blind and he doesn't see the scars or the imperfections. His fingers brush the nipple and instantly I feel it harden under his touch. He whimpers quietly. Suddenly, his head dips and he softly kisses it, which in turn, makes me whimper.

His head comes up quickly and he looks at me to determine whether it's good or bad. "Good," I croak. "Again."

He smiles, and kisses it lightly, making me squirm. His face is hovering just above my breast and I know he's thinking about something, and finally I feel his tongue gently lick and then swirl, and oh my god, he's sucking now, and my back arches into him. I pull at his hair, and whisper his name, and I don't want him to stop. I pull his hand to my other breast and push his fingers down, willing him to grasp it, and he does, kneading it like bread dough.

We're both moaning now, and I reach for his chest and brush his nipples, and am satisfied when they pebble beneath my touch and harden.

By this point, our hips are sloppily bucking against each other. I'm not entirely sure we are ready to go all the way or not, but I know we both need some sort of release, so I reach my hand down between our bodies and run my fingers across his very apparent bulge. Peeta responds with a strangulated moan. I squeeze slightly and Peeta freezes. "Can we, can we move to the floor? We need more room."

I don't question it but merely nod in agreement. Once on his feet, he unbuttons his pants and slides them down before stepping out of them, and nods in my direction. He's left his boxer briefs in place, so I mirror his actions and drop my pants but leave my underwear. With that, we are quickly on the floor, kissing one another heatedly.

It seems that he likes to hear his name and each time I call it out, he moans in response. His moans have an effect on me too, and I feel myself growing wetter, and wonder if I will be able to deny Peeta if he chooses to take it to the next level. Instead, though, I feel his lips wander down my jaw to just below my ear, he sucks lightly and my chest pushes into his involuntarily.

"Ohhhh, Peeta! Do that again!"

I hear a low chuckle, and I smile myself, and then he does it again, and reflexively my back arches once more and our chests smash together. Without warning, my leg launches over his hips, and I push into him several times. I push his chest back slightly, and he looks at me in confusion, but I'm trying to get a better idea of what is happening at our midsections. I can see the tip of his penis slipping out of his waistband.

In that moment, I want more than anything to touch it, but I'm afraid. I don't know how to touch it. Peeta senses it, and reaches down to push the underwear out of the way. He hooks the elastic under himself, freeing his penis which is tucked rigidly close to his belly. A pearl-colored liquid escapes the tip and pools near his belly button. "I've had it in me," I remind myself. But so much happened that first night, that neither of us had taken the time to explore each other's most private areas.

"If you want to touch it, go ahead," Peeta says and nudges his hips forward.

I reach down tentatively and press my fingers to it. The skin is silky soft and underneath it feels like iron, the skin moves with my fingers, and Peeta moans.

"Wrap your hand," Peeta instructs.

I do, gripping it lightly. It feels like velvet coated steel. "Show me."

He quickly moves his hand over mine and grips much tighter than I would have thought comfortable. "Your hand feels fucking amazing," he gasps, and I grin at his words that word so foreign coming from him. He then chooses a pace and moves my hand solidly up and down. My hand reaches the tip, and I can't resist running my thumb across the top and swirling it around. "Oh shit!" he exclaims, and again I smile.

"Good?" I question, knowing the answer but just wanting to hear how Peeta might describe it.

"Katniss," he pants, "I never dreamed it would feel like this." He moves his hands away and I keep the steady rhythm, interspersed with occasional swirls at the top. Just as I'm about to make another upward stroke, Peeta's fingers stroke the crotch of my soaked underwear, and I inadvertently rotate my hand and grip more firmly. Peeta's breath hitches and he groans loudly.

My hand stops. "Sorry, did I hurt you."

He shakes his head almost frantically, and says, "Again."

I replicate the movement, and he gasps again. I look at him, and his eyes are fierce dark blue pools of desire. I keep up the pace and he's panting now. His hand rests on my crotch, and I buck against it seeking friction.

"I'm going … to … come," Peeta says breathlessly, and he does, the first spurt landing nearly at his chin, while the rest courses down his stomach. I feel a strange sense of accomplishment as I watch his chest heave and feel his penis begin to lose some of its strength.

"What do you call it?" I question, knowing only the anatomical name for it.

"Huh?" he asks, still not very eloquent as he continues to pant.

"Your … ummm … thing," I know there's other names for it but truthfully I paid little attention to them.

"Oh, well …," he seems suddenly shy. He appears to be thinking hard. "When I was little, my mother called it a … peter I think. Yes, she did. 'Peeta make sure you wash your peter thoroughly.' I always thought she was making fun of my name but I think that's just what she called it. But then later, my brothers called it a dick or a cock."

"Cock," I say, testing the sound of it. "Dick." I look down at it lying limply on his stomach. "Cock," I try it out again while staring at it. Frankly, I prefer "your thing," but I doubt Peeta would. "Penis," I test but that doesn't seem quite right either. Peter seems to juvenile, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to make the leap to cock.

"Delly calls them willies." Peeta says as if trying to give me more options.

"Willie," I say and grasp it once again. Nothing seems quite right, all are either too formal, too vulgar or too juvenile. "What do you prefer?"

He blushes furiously. "Nothing … just … ." I wait for him to finish. "I called it junior I think."

I laugh but I like it. "Well, junior it is, at least for awhile."

Peeta smiles and begins kissing me languidly now. His breath is returning to normal. "Your turn," he says with a grin.

"Peeta, you don't need to …"

But he cuts me off, "Yes, I do, Katniss. I need to know you. I need to make you feel that way."

Peeta returns his attention to my breasts, and he licks and sucks each one. Then his mouth finds my collarbone, and he kisses and licks there until he's satisfied that he knows where my most sensitive area is. Without pretense or warning, his hand snakes into my underwear, causing me to groan loudly. His fingers rest on my folds and I wait for movement, but none comes.

"Show me," Peeta says, much like I did to him.

Without thought or embarrassment, I push my underwear down and he sits up curiously. Using two fingers, I dip toward my center, and find the wetness needed to lubricate me. I slide my fingers up and circle the bundle of nerves which slightly protrudes. Within seconds, Peeta's fingers join me and he is lightly rubbing the same area which suddenly feels incredibly sensitive. I realize that I'm whimpering in response to his ministrations.

I move my hand away, and Peeta takes over, sometimes lightly moving his fingers down and around, exploring me totally. His pace is different but no less satisfying, and soon he reaches a finger inside me. My eyes shoot open and I see him watching my face intently.

"Good?" he questions, a slight smile on his face.

"More," I gasp, and he inserts a second finger. At first, he saws them in and out, mimicking the pattern a penis would take, but then he curls them slightly and my entire body spasms. His fingers still for a few seconds, but then he does it again and elicits the same reaction.

He quickly picks up on this and soon I'm thrashing on the floor, bucking my hips to meet his hand. He moves his thumb up to my clit, and I'm done. It's like nothing I've experienced before. The intensity is magic. I see stars and feel the orgasm ripple through my entire body. I feel Peeta remove his fingers, and I open my eyes to see him sniff his fingers and tentatively lick them. His eyebrows shoot up, and he quickly licks them off, and I feel a smaller orgasm ripple through me. In this moment, I can't understand why I ever doubted that Peeta Mellark is the man for me.

While making me come, Peeta's gotten hard again, and I quickly take him in hand, but before I get too far, he reaches down and gathers my wetness and covers his length. My hand moves smoothly up and down. I reach for his balls and gently tug, and within minutes, he's coming again.

This time it's my turn to taste him. I take a small bit on my finger and lick, and find it salty and slippery, and altogether Peeta. So much so, that I quickly dismiss my finger and lick the remains of it off him directly which elicits a loud groan from him. Afterward, we kiss one another, each exploring our own taste on the other's tongue.

When at last we are done, Peeta says, "I think we will have to do this again," and we both laugh because it would be impossible not to do it again.

"I think we make damn good explorers." He nods, and pulls me tighter. Both of us are exhausted and quickly fall asleep in each other's arms on our living room floor.


	11. No Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins.

After we awaken, the rest of the day is mostly uneventful, but there's now an undercurrent between us that makes us both secretly smile to ourselves. Several times, I catch Peeta's eyes on me, not unusual, but the blush that creeps up our cheeks is somewhat new and unfamiliar.  
  
As we make supper together, Peeta's blue eyes twinkle, and he has a grin that won't seem to go away, in spite of himself. The look on his face has an undeniable effect on me, and I find myself with probably the same kind of grin plastered on my face.  
  
Today, we most definitely went into new and undiscovered territory, but I have no regrets. When he stands close to me, I find myself edging closer to him. I know everything is going to be fine between us.  
  
Over supper, we stick to mundane topics, discussing the progress of our garden with smiles so wide you would swear it was the best, most happy news ever! About a week ago, Thom and Peeta managed to plow the soil, and in our spare time we are smoothing it out and preparing for our garden. Capitol decrees originally prohibited those of us living in Victor's Village from altering the property; however, no such laws remain.  
  
For this reason, Haymitch chose to purchase a small of flock of geese, and they arrived late last week. So far, they have proven to be a noisy, scavenging lot whose main purpose seems to be to provide stalking practice for Buttercup. Peeta points out that he will probably have to help Haymitch build an enclosure or the geese may be hard on our garden.  
  
When the conversation lulls, both of us seek to find neutral topics to fill the void. Neither of us has progressed to the point that we can casually discuss what happened outside our intimacy. After supper, we clear the table and do the dishes. It's not quite seven o'clock, and Peeta lights a fire to ward off the chill of the evening.  
  
We move to the living room, and find ourselves situated comfortably in each other's arms watching the fire. Nothing new about our positions, but in my heart a surge of contentment I had not anticipated. We share occasional kisses, but soon discover exhaustion has crept up on us to the point where our yawns feed off one another. Three nights of broken or no sleep, coupled with the events of last night have left both of us unbelievably tired.  
  
Just past eight o'clock, we head upstairs to bed for the first real night's sleep in our new shared room. We undress. Peeta settling into bed in just his boxers, and me in his t-shirt with just underwear underneath. After getting comfortable, we kiss knowing that we no longer have to concern ourselves with rushing forward. We say our "goodnights" content in the knowledge that future exploration will happen as the mood strikes.  
  
Within minutes, sleep claims us. Hours later, our first thunderstorm of the season rolls in. I don't know whether it was the crash of thunder or the sizzle of lightning, but I awake screaming, terrified that I was back in the second arena. Peeta holds me close, murmuring quietly to me, "not real, not real" over and over again, but the flashes of lightning do nothing to help my fears abate. He presses kisses to the top of my head as he tries to calm me.  
  
Finally, in desperation probably, he steadies my face between his hands and kisses me slowly, successfully diverting my mind from the storm. Within seconds, the old hunger returns with a vengeance and my hands roam his bare chest. Peeta quickly follows suit and the t-shirt I was wearing is quickly across the room.  
  
First, his hands brush my breasts, then he lowers his head and tentatively licks one nipple before slipping it into his mouth. A jolt not unlike the lightning outside moves through me to my center, causing me to clench my thighs in anticipation. But Peeta is having none of that as he moves his hand quickly down into the front of my underwear. As his finger brushes my folds, we groan in unison which causes a small fit of giggles on both parts, but he quickly resumes his exploration.  
  
"You're so wet already." He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean before reaching back and repeating the process. He stops momentarily as if he's thinking about something, and then quickly pulls the blanket up and ducks underneath. Within seconds, my underwear is pushed to the side and I feel his tongue on me. I buck my hips upward. He quickly brings his arm across my hips to steady me, and continues his oral exploration of me.  
  
It only takes him seconds to attach his mouth to my clit and begin sucking and nibbling which in turn has me writhing beneath him. I've never felt anything like it and when he inserts first one and then a second finger, curling them as he did earlier, I lose all sense of anything around me save what Peeta is doing to me. My senses are flooded and I close my eyes tight as my breathing becomes more labored. Distantly, I hear the crash of thunder and see the flicker of the lightning beyond my eyelids but I can't bring myself to care any longer.  
  
Peeta continues his ministrations and I feel my impending climax as wave after wave of pleasure sweeps across me. "Peeta," I manage to choke out, but nothing else, and if anything the sound of his name increases his fervor. Finally, "I'm coming!" I shout, and my legs stiffen as the spasms overtake me and Peeta continues both his sucking and finger motions.  
  
The spasms slow and Peeta removes his fingers and gently kisses my clit one last time but my area is super sensitive right now and I jump a bit. As I open my eyes, I see Peeta's blue eyes darkened with lust. "Good?" he questions.  
  
"Oh god, where the hell did you learn that?" It's not that I care so much now, but obviously that's not something you would merely just know instinctively, is it?  
  
Peeta chuckles, and I suddenly realize that maybe he has some experience in this area and it bothers me. "Well, you being a girl and all with no older siblings, I understand why you might not have a … lot … of … knowledge, but there was no shortage at my house. Thatch was five years older and well, how to put this delicately, he was in love with a girl named Mora … ."  
  
"From the Seam?" Mora was four years older than me and had gotten pregnant the year I volunteered.  
  
"Yes," Peeta affirmed. "You know her?" I nod. Peeta sighs, "Well, Thatch did a fair amount of talking, and so did Rusk. Rusk was pretty wild and cut a huge swath through the Seam girls." I remember it well. Rusk had a charisma that was nearly unmatched and coupled with his flirtatious nature, he was nearly unstoppable. More girls pulled their skirts up and dropped their panties for him than any other boy. "He used to tell all kinds of stories, and some of them were about what we just did. They were, to put it mildly, pretty graphic."  
  
The thunder crashes menacingly overhead and the lightning flashes just outside the window and I pull myself closer to Peeta. The rain is pelting the house as I consider Peeta's explanation. In spite of myself, I giggle picturing a very young Peeta taking mental notes for the future. He sees the humor and joins me, and we laugh together.  
  
"There's a lot of stuff I heard about that I dreamed doing with you someday." I must look surprised because Peeta quickly attempts to retract it.  
  
"No, it's okay. I'm curious that's all."  
  
"Curiosity is good," Peeta grins at me. "I also want you to know that I think that whatever happens in here is the result of my love for you."  
  
"Peeta, don't worry, nothing matters as long as we love each other." In the light from the window, Peeta looks relieved and moves to kiss me. I can taste myself distinctly on him but instead of being disgusted, my passion only increases and soon our hips are bucking together. Peeta breaks away and sits up just long enough to remove his boxers, and I remove my underwear. We are approaching the point of no return, but neither seems bothered by it.  
  
His hand moves down again, and he reinserts his finger, followed by a second, and moves them all around. It feels good and I realize he's preparing me for his penis. He did something similar the last time too, and I remember being somewhat surprised at how little it hurt. Sure, there was some pinching, and a minute of uncomfortable fullness, but not the pain I had been led to believe would accompany it.  
  
Neither of us speak, and Peeta merely leans back and looks deeply in my eyes. Birth control is not a concern for either of us as I received a shot before leaving the Capitol which prevents pregnancy for five years. Apparently, they didn't want the former Mockingjay procreating any time soon, and it doesn't bother me.  
  
Finally, he positions himself over me, his weight on his hands. I can feel his hardness against my thigh. I draw my knees up on either side and let them fall apart. I can feel the tip bumping against my folds and I arch my hips slightly trying to align him. He reaches one hand between us and moves the tip up and down gathering the wetness as he continues. My breath hitches in response.  
  
"Peeta, please!" I cry desperately. Peeta looks up quickly and must like what he sees in my eyes because he smiles.  
  
He pushes in slightly and stops and waits for me to adjust. Then a few more inches, and finally he is completely sheathed and he stops again. His breathing is ragged and I know he's trying hard to control himself. Having him inside me feels different this time. I don't have the illusion of being "too full" but rather, Peeta is a welcome presence and I feel like I'm not entirely sure where I end and he begins.  
  
He pulls back slowly and pushes in equally as slow. He does it a few more times, his head dipped as he looks toward their joined bodies. "Oh god," he breathes. "You are so amazingly tight, Katniss. This is incredible."  
  
"Little bit faster, Peeta, please?"  
  
He looks up and catches my eyes, and nods, before crashing his lips against mine one more time. He picks up the pace and I match him thrust for thrust as we fall into a synchronized pace.  
  
"Fuck …" he mutters. I smile in response as his voice brings me closer to the edge. The hunger has spread now, roiling within me. I can feel my inner walls contract. Seconds later, I feel Peeta's thumb on my clit, pressing in tight circles, and suddenly it's there, earth shattering, mind jarring.  
  
"Pe-e-ta," I call out. My limbs are shaking, and my inner walls quake as my orgasm spreads. Peeta releases moments later, as my walls continue to spasm, drawing it from him.  
  
Peeta is motionless for several seconds, and then a loud groan. He collapses on top of me, and all I can hear is him panting close to my ear. Finally, "I love you, Katniss." We kiss and its sloppy and wet but so satisfying. He pushes off to the side but keeps a tight hold on me.  
  
"You love me. Real or not real."  
  
"Real," I reply, and am rewarded with an absolutely dazzling smile. "I have so much to tell you, Peeta, but I'm so tired right now." He nods, kisses me once more and we settle back together, comfortable in our nakedness.  
  
We awake just before sunrise, and repeat the process once more. We've discovered that we are tireless explorers when it comes to each other. My timid touches are rewarded by enthusiastic moans from Peeta which makes me bolder. Eventually, we fall to sleep once more.  
  
It's after 9 o'clock when we awake again, and while we are surprised it's so late, neither of us makes a move to get up. I'm settled closely to his side with my head resting above his heart. He's got both arms around me and his hand is tracing small shapes on my back.  
  
"I want to paint you," Peeta says suddenly. "Not just from memory. I mean I want to paint you lying here like this."  
  
"Naked?" I can't hide my surprise.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Peeta, I don't want anyone else to see me naked."  
  
"Neither do I," he answered honestly. "These paintings would be just for the two of us."  
  
"Would you paint yourself in them?"  
  
"Why would I do that?"  
  
"Because if the paintings are for the two of us, then you should be in them too. Naked." I'm grinning at him and for once, Peeta has a scowl on his face. "Come on Peeta, you can paint some for yourself of just me, but I want some of you for me. I will describe you and you can paint it."  
  
Suddenly a smile appears on his face, "Damn strange to do a naked self-portrait but I guess so."  
  
He gets up to get his sketchbook and comes back with his stool and his book. "Before we start, maybe we should grab breakfast." I agree because I feel like I'm starving.  
  
I throw on Peeta's t-shirt, and he slides on his boxers, but for the most part, we are barely dressed. We eat leftover muffins and exchange conspiratorial smiles. In the back of my mind I'm wondering when I should tell him my feelings for him. I want to do it soon because Peeta has put himself out there so many times.  
  
"Ready?" he questions, bringing me out of my reverie.  
  
"Yes," I smile and take our dishes to the sink. We head back upstairs to our room. Once inside, Peeta grabs my wrist and brings me to him. Without ceremony, he grasps the hem of the t-shirt and pulls it over my head in one motion.  
  
"Breathtaking! You are beautiful."  
  
His scrutiny makes me blush and I feel my ears beginning to burn. To distract him, I reach out and pull his boxers down in a single motion. That's all it takes before his mouth is on mine. Our kisses are frantic as if we weren't just satiated a few hours ago. His tongue swipes my lower lip and I gladly open my mouth, allowing his to gain entry. Our tongues massage one another, before he runs his tongue around the confines of my mouth.  
  
We groan together, and Peeta moves us backward to the still unmade bed. As my knees touch, I fall backward, and Peeta quickly pulls my legs apart, and then moves his fingers to my folds.  
  
"So wet! Fuck!"  
  
"Do it!" I can barely get the words out.  
  
Peeta moves my legs up and slides me forward so that I'm perched at the edge. I feel the tip slip just inside my folds and moan, and suddenly he slides into me without further warning. He stops and I look into his eyes which have darkened with desire. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too," he replies, and then chuckles.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's the first time, I've heard you say those words to me, and I like it … In fact, I love it!"  
  
This morning, Peeta's in the mood to play and experiment. Several times he brings me to the brink, but does not push me over. In desperation, I reach between my legs, and Peeta moves my hand away. "My job!" He says simply.  
  
"Dammit, Peeta!" I growl. "Then do it!"  
  
He grins at me. "Definitely not fantasy Katniss but I like this Katniss way better! So, I think I want to try just one more thing and I promise I will finish you and it will be the best yet." My eyebrows shoot up as he pulls out and positions himself on his back.  
  
I'm not at all sure what he expects and look at him as he gestures me on top. "I saw a couple in the Capitol do it this way," Peeta explains, "and it kind of became one of my favorite fantasies of you this past winter."  
  
I straddle his hips as he holds "junior" in place. I begin lowering myself down, and my eyes widen as it feels totally different. Once our hips meet again, we both let out a moan.  
  
"Fuck, this is incredible. I mean the view is amazing." I look at his face expecting to see him focussed on our centers but instead see that he is focussed on my face. "You should see your face right now, Katniss. Gorgeous."  
  
I grind my hips and raise up slightly and on the downward thrust realize that Peeta is rising to meet me. "Ohhhhh. Mmmmmm. That feels …" but I can't finish.  
  
Peeta reaches between us and affixes his middle to my clit and begins massaging it. Minutes later my insides are quivering and Peeta is arching toward me, spilling inside once again. I collapse on top of him and our breathing is erratic to the point we are unable to communicate.  
  
Finally, "Kat … Katniss … I never … dreamed … you would… be like this. I was kind of reconciled to … uh … pretty … chaste encounters. This is so much better!"  
  
I can't help but laugh. "Trust me, no one is more surprised than me!" We both laugh, and then Peeta turns serious.  
  
"Katniss, when did you … you know, know that you loved me."  
  
We're laying facing one another in the center of the bed. "Let's get under the covers," I suggest. "This could take awhile." He laughs but we move and pull the covers over us.  
  
"I spent a lot of this past winter thinking about … things. Peeta, I realized that it was always you and I was too stubborn or too naive or too blind to figure it out. You know when you gave me the bread, it saved our lives, and the next day I wanted to thank you, but I'm not good with those types of things. I saw you and I wanted to say something, but instead I looked away and noticed a dandelion nearby. Suddenly, I realized that we were going to be fine. That dandelion gave me hope for the future, and from that point on, you were associated with dandelions in the springtime and hope for the future."  
  
Peeta is listening attentively, his arms holding me close. "After I volunteered, I hoped that Gale would not be reaped because his name was in 42 times." Peeta's eyes grow wide, "But in reality, I never dreamed that you would be reaped and when your name was called, my heart sunk. Peeta Mellark was the other boy that I never wanted to face. It's why I kept you at arm's length on the train. I knew that only one of us could come home. Little by little, I felt myself drawn to you, and I worried because I had promised Prim that I would come home and for me to come home, you would have to die." The words catch in my throat.  
  
Peeta kisses my forehead sweetly. "During the interview, I was so shocked. Everything that Effie and Haymitch coached me on was how to be fake, and I assumed it was all game, not real. That's why I reacted so harshly, and was angry with you. I never dreamed it was real. Later in the arena, I thought you were with the Careers, and it reinforced the idea it was all game play."  
  
Peeta nods. "When you fought Cato, I was confused whether it was a hallucination or real. After the rules changed, I had only one thought and that was to find you. I stayed with you because I cared about you. I went to the feast because I knew without the medicine, you were going to die. When I got back with the head wound, you kissed me and for the first time, I felt the hunger inside me that consumes me when we kiss now. But you noticed my head was bleeding, and you stopped."  
  
He chuckles slightly. "'Dammit Peeta, keep kissing me!' Trust me, I would have complied."  
  
I laugh at his joke. "In the cave, I connected with you on so many levels. I never dreamed that I would be able to talk to someone like you but even when conversation lapsed, I was comfortable. Little by little, I knew that it was important to me that we both come home for reasons beyond the fact that we were district partners. The berries were not rebellion, they were intended to save your life, our lives so that we could go home together."  
  
Peeta smiles. "When they took you from me, I was devastated. Every time I came to in the hospital, you were the first person on my mind. I wanted to see you. When they released me, I could not wait to see you. Then Haymitch told me what happened as a result of the berries, and I felt again that everything was game play. That is, until I saw the footage and realized your feelings were real. But I was confused. I had never wanted to marry or have children. I never expected to have a relationship. Plus, I felt that if Snow and Haymitch were unconvinced of my true feelings for you, maybe they were not real."  
  
"On the train home, I was worried that I was going to lose you, 'my boy with bread,' and as we pulled into the station, I didn't want to let go of your hand."  
  
He reaches for my hand now and firmly clasps it in his. This is what he needs to hear. He needs to know, even if it's hard for me to tell him. "I did want to forget the games, Peeta, but not you. Just the killings and what I did to get to the end, but the nightmares wouldn't let me. They lingered. Some days I would pass your house and want to go in, but I felt that I had no right after what had happened."  
  
Peeta shook his head as if to say that I would have been welcome, and I probably would have but I can't turn back the clock. "I hoped that things would return to normal. I hoped that Gale and I would resume our friendship. I honestly never considered Gale as anything other than a friend. I know a lot of people thought we were more than friends, but Gale was a frequent visitor to the slag heap. I was never jealous of him not like I was with …," but I stop myself before I can say anything else.  
  
It's too late, though, and Peeta already picked up on it. "Jealous of?" he questions.  
  
I squirm uncomfortably because I was jealous of Peeta and the stories that I heard that summer and early fall. Stories from the butcher's daughter who claimed to have spent several evenings with Peeta, stories of the tailor's daughter who was seen with Peeta pressed up against her in the back alley. There was even a story about Delly, but after meeting her and seeing their interaction, I discounted that one. Suddenly, I'm wondering if the stories that Peeta told of the Capitol couple and his brothers knowledge is the truth. I had pushed these stories to the back of my mind, but the remark had brought them forward. Now I really don't want to know.  
  
"Nothing, it's nothing. So anyway."  
  
"Jealous of me?" Peeta interrupted, a frown on his face.  
  
"Look Peeta, it doesn't matter now."  
  
"Why would you be jealous of me?" He's clearly confused.  
  
His eyes implore me to tell him, and I don't know what is best. I never intended to bring it up, and unfortunately my mouth got ahead of my brain. His memories are all messed up and who knows what he remembers.  
  
"Peeta, it doesn't matter now," I reiterate, but the look on his face tells me it clearly does matter. "There was just some … stories …"  
  
"About me?" He sounds upset. "Me and some girl?"  
  
"Peeta, there were stories, but I know the one about you and Delly was false."  
  
"Me and Delly? What kind of story?" His voice is rising, and this is not what I wanted to have happen.  
  
"Peeta, calm down. Whether the stories were true or not no longer matter. My point is I was jealous, and that was never an emotion I experienced with Gale.  
  
"I'll drop it for now, but later, please tell me, okay?" I nod.  
  
"Anyway, Gale obviously felt differently about me. I wasn't expecting it, and his feelings confused the situation more. I really only wanted things to stay the same. I never wanted to fall in love, ever. After Dad died, I watched Mom withdraw to the point where she couldn't even take care of Prim and me." Peeta nodded in understanding. "I felt that the only way to avoid that kind of loss was to never fall in love. So, love and everything that went with it was never a real option for me."  
  
I exhale realizing the explanation was much longer and a little convoluted, but Peeta seemed to be following it just fine. "Then we went on the Victory Tour, and we became friends, and you held me while I slept. Peeta, if I had been honest with myself then, I would have recognized that our bond was greater than anything I had with Gale. I knew that you don't sleep with a male 'friend.' I loved holding hands and kissing you. I loved your humor and words of comfort. I loved having you in my bed and there were nights when I really wanted to kiss you."  
  
He looks surprised at my admission. "To be completely honest, the engagement didn't bother me except for the fact that it seemed to be dictated by Snow. My biggest problem was the fact that I really didn't understand my own heart. When we returned, I invited you to run with me and you agreed, and that day Gale was whipped. I felt horrible. That night, I decided that I would be with him. Looking back, it was a guilt-filled decision. Somehow, you knew the choice I made, and you seemed to accept it and even push for it."  
  
He's quiet. His hands are still. "Yet still, I sought you out and the night I jumped from the tree I wanted you in my bed holding me, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. Those next days were huge for me as you visited daily. I loved watching you work, the intensity on your face. I loved your hands and I became slightly obsessed with your eye lashes." We both laugh and a blush colors his cheeks.  
  
"Sometimes I wondered what would have happened had we not been reaped a second time. You know? Surely we would have been married by the Quell time. But we can't change the past and after the announcement, I decided that I was going to save your life at the expense of my own. Looking back with the clarity of hindsight, I know there were two people for whom I would sacrifice my own life: you and Prim. No one else. You turned into an angry drill sergeant about that time … ."  
  
"I did not," Peeta replies indignantly.  
  
"Oh you were!" I tease in return. "There was no time for friendship or kisses or hugs. 'Katniss, give me twenty  NOW!' or 'Haymitch, you big old lard ass, Croner, the triple amputee from 5 could take you out!.'" He's grinning and for a moment, looks lost in recall.  
  
"Lard ass? Hahaha!" He's laughing hard at the thought. "Oh wait! He called me, 'Tiny Dick' or just 'Tiny' or sometimes just 'Dick.' We both laugh now because Haymitch's nickname could not have been further from the truth. "Ummm. Katniss, did you ever notice a … ummmm … pattern when I made you do the pushups?"  
  
"No," I shake my head. "No pattern. Why?"  
  
"Mmmm. Ummm, you wouldn't happen to have those khaki shorts you used to wear do you?"  
  
"Maybe … why?" The look in his eyes definitely tells me his motivation was something other than getting me into shape.  
  
"Every time I visualize you doing pushups I see you wearing the shorts which revealed just a tiny bit of your … ass … when you were doing the pushups."  
  
"Damn you, Mellark. Were you sitting back there getting your jollies while you watched me?" I try to sound offended, but a year has gone by and it's nice to know he was interested. He just grins back at me.  
  
"The first affection you showed me was on the train. You held out your arms, and I walked straight into them and didn't want to let you go. I loved how it felt. The warmth coursing through my body. Once in the Capitol though, I pushed you away after Joanna stripped and you called me pure. It wasn't until the night when we got our training scores that we came back together and I knew I had wasted so much time. I thought my death was days away, and was upset for not spending time with you. We spent the night together, and then the next day and it was wonderful Peeta. I fell asleep with my head on your lap. I know I've told some of this to you before. I guess I kind of just got wrapped up in the telling of it."  
  
"I don't mind. Sometimes my memory needs … reenforcement, you know?"  
  
"When we … made love … you know the first time, I never would have done that with just anyone. That night, my heart was telling me that I needed to be close to you. As we kissed, my body just took over. I had to keep assuring you that everything was fine, and once you were inside, it's hard to describe. I felt like a 'whole' person. Like you completed me, and I never regretted what we did. Never."  
  
Peeta leans his head closer to mine and rests his forehead on mine. "Finnick told me that he knew I was in love with you based on my reaction when you hit the forcefield. Snow knew I loved you after we kissed on the beach. Haymitch knew I loved you when I damn near scratched his eyes out for leaving you behind. Prim knew I loved you and helped me understand my grief over you being prisoner. Later, her goal was to return you to me, but everyone said it was a lost cause. But the question was, when did I know …"  
  
Peeta nods. "For me, I think I always knew, Peeta. But I didn't let myself recognize it before we kissed on the beach. When you said that no one would miss you if you were dead, I knew I would. I knew in that moment that going on without you was not an option and if you died, I would surely just find a way to die myself. I knew I loved you."  
  
"When I learned that they had changed your feelings toward me, I cried and told myself that I needed to let you go. I decided to do that in 2 when I was there to take the mountain. I kissed Gale one day, and he told me that I kissed like a drunk girl, without feeling. We never kissed again. It was only friendship after that. In spite of everything, my thoughts drifted to you with regularity. When you joined us in the Capitol, I was angry and frustrated and that's why I called you a mutt. Then I talked to Haymitch and he told me something that I should have known myself. If I had been tortured and made to feel the same way, you would have worked to get me back."  
  
"It hurt though, looking in your eyes which were once filled with love and seeing only an ice cold glare in return. Maybe I deserved it for all the years I had made you wait. Then you tried to kill me again, and Boggs told me to kill you, but I couldn't. Killing you for what the Capitol had done to you would have been worse than anything I did to that point."  
  
"I remember you taking care of me," Peeta interjects. "My mind had been warring with itself. The only time I had peace was at night when I would dream of you. My nightmares were during the day fighting off the flashbacks. But I will never forget the kiss, it was a turning point."  
  
"Well, no matter what I still loved you. I wish I had told you. Do you remember when we were in Tigris' basement and Gale brought you water? You were talking about me and you wondered how I would choose, and Gale said I would choose whoever I could not survive without. I felt like it made me sound so cold, and in that moment I was angry and told myself I wanted neither of you."  
  
I wait for a second, and then press on, "In truth, Peeta, I already knew who I could not survive without and that was you, and I felt you were lost. I no longer cared if I took chances with my life, I was okay dying in that moment."  
  
He closes his eyes and waits for me to continue. "You kept me from killing myself after I shot Coin, and I didn't understand it. In solitary confinement, I tried to kill myself again, but they thwarted my plan. When I got home, I had no reason to live. Prim was gone. You were gone. I sat in front of the fire not caring if I lived and more often wishing I was dead. I just did not have the energy to do it."  
  
Peeta is openly crying now. "When you came home, I felt a spark of energy. I showered and changed and went to the woods. The next day, the spark became a tiny blaze. At first, I was just glad for friendship thinking you could never love me again, but slowly hope took root. Allowing me to hold you, working on the book with me, the hugs, hand holding, and eventual kisses. Yesterday, the fire roared to life and it felt incredible."  
  
His smile is shaky. "Peeta, if you are willing, I'm ready to work together with you on a future. I realize now that I can't shield my heart from love. Without you I would be broken anyway. When Gale mentioned the word 'survive' I had taken it as the physical act of survival because that's how I equated it in my life. But actual survival is so much more. Physically, I can survive on my own, feed myself, but true survival is emotional as well, and I need you for that part."  
  
His lips are on mine in that instant, and the fire blazes once more and spreads rapidly. We make love again as Peeta whispers softly in my ear assuring me of his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I grappled with what Katniss would call a penis ... In the books she does seem to have a cruder side as in "knocked up"; however, I don't know if she would call a penis by a slang term initially. I think she and Peeta will "grow" into something like that. So for now, it will be "junior." LOL


	12. Coming to Terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins.

"Wood weevils?" I ask around the mouthful of pancake I'm chewing.

"Yes, I saw a couple this morning in the bedroom. Kind of stands to reason that they've taken up residence here, especially since the house stood empty all those years," Peeta answers, as he reaches for some more syrup.

"So what did you say happens when they get a foothold?"

"They bore into the wood and, well, they build nests … colonies really, and then proceed to eat their way through all wood. We had them in the bakery a few years back, and we had to work to get them irradicated before they did too much damage."

I nod my head at his revelation. "Okay, so how do we do it? Get rid of them I mean and are they throughout the house," I cast my eyes around looking for the mysterious little critter.

"No, they usually infest one room at a time and if other rooms were infested, we would already have noticed them." He seems to be an authority on the wood weevil. "I'll start getting rid of them today while you go into town and help remove the debris from the block we're working on."

"Well, I can help you." I don't feel it's right that Peeta undertake this alone.

"No, that's fine. We will probably have to move back to your old room for awhile," he says and then notices the confusion apparent on my face, "because there will be fumes and stuff for a while."

It makes sense, so I nod in agreement.

"Oh, and Katniss, don't forget to pick out the house warming gift for Effie. A few days ago, Effie sent a pamphlet with a bunch of furniture and household items for her new apartment in the Capitol. Peeta and I spent a lot of time laughing at some of her choices but ironically for every outlandish, obviously Effie choice, there was at least one piece that looked really nice. Peeta and I decided to send her a comforter and drapes for her new bedroom, along with all the accessories.

I pick it up and flip to the comforters. "If it were me, I would want this one," I say pointing to a hunter green comforter with what appears to be dogwood blossoms." Peeta looks over my shoulder.

"I know, but it's not you," he smiles as he speaks. "But we can get it for her anyway."

"No," I shake my head, "knowing Effie, she will want something like this." I point to the one with the vibrant pink background and strokes of purple, blue, red and orange running across it.

Peeta nods and laughs, "So that messy one then?" I nod. "Okay, I will call it in today."

We finish breakfast talking about the upcoming week. So much to do, and now Peeta is distracted by the wood weevils but we have to take care of things at home too, so everyone will just have to understand. I gather up our plates, and Peeta joins me to wash the dishes that have gathered in the sink over the past few days.

After our "sexual awakening," we spent the rest of the day in bed, snacking, sleeping and fucking. Peeta also took time to paint a portrait of me with just a hint of himself off to one side.

The next day we managed to get out of bed and work on the townsite a bit. But by quitting time, both of us were more than happy to get back home and after a hurried supper, found ourselves slipping into the tub where we splashed and played like children. Eventually, we slid between the sheets and continued our own brand of sexual experimentation well into the night.

We rarely left the bedroom over the weekend and discovered a plethora of positions based solely on the "Let's try this" theory. Our formal education consisted of very clinical lectures about the male and female reproductive systems. There was one day spent discussing conception and one day spent discussing childbirth. According to our studies, procreation was the only reason for copulation.

But Capitol programming always suggested otherwise, right down to the Hunger Games when little girls and boys were sexualized for the sake of entertainment. When I was younger, Mother would distract us from the parade because pairs sometimes entered naked. Then when I was eleven, I watched for the first time and thought a boy from District 6 was somehow deformed as his penis stuck straight out while riding next to his naked partner.

We rarely watched television outside the games, so once I got to the Capitol I was surprised to find an entire instructional station about sex. More than once, I caught Peeta watching in the evening. He also had ample time to mill about the city during his recovery, and he said that some people were quite open sexually.

It's safe to say that many of the ideas come from him but sometimes it takes a few attempts to actually succeed in coupling a particular way. I found that I like it when I'm on my hands and knees with Peeta behind me but he says he can't see my face so we usually move away from that position before we finish. Peeta likes me on top where he can play with my boobs and tease my nipples while he watches our joined bodies.

I'm tired and a little sore but overall, content and happy on a level I never thought I would be. I grin to myself as I wash a plate and realize that I never imagined I would enjoy sex with someone the way I do with him. I remember when I first learned of the expectations. I thought that it was gross that a boy would stick his penis inside a girl. Grosser still that a girl would allow it.

But as often as not since we crossed the threshold, I find myself reaching for Peeta and guiding him into me. I love the rosy pink flesh that turns a deep red when he's aroused. I love the feeling of it in my hand both soft and hard as I compare one texture to another. But then again, it's Peeta and I love him. I'm not sure I would be as at ease with anyone else.

"Katniss?" I blush as Peeta caught me daydreaming. He grins at me as if reading my thoughts. "It's okay. It's pretty spectacular, isn't it?" Peeta is standing close by my side as he whispers in my ear. My blush deepens, confirming exactly where my thoughts were. Before I have a chance to respond, he turns my head and kisses me gently. "All the more spectacular because of how much I love you."

With that statement, my blush recedes. "I love you too, Peeta. More than I ever thought possible." Our kiss deepens, and we are moments from shedding our clothes. "Never leave me." Peeta draws back and studies me for a moment.

"Never. I'll never leave you and you never leave me." His eyes are searching mine as he makes his demand.

"Promise. I promise you Peeta, I'll never leave you." Strangely, I feel as if the only thing missing in this moment is toast. We've basically pledged our lives together which is something that again, I never imagined myself doing. Yet, warmth floods me as he leans in for another kiss.

Our kiss becomes more passionate and just as Peeta begins unbuttoning my shirt, we hear footsteps on the back porch before the door opens and we spring apart just as Sae enters.

"Good morning, Sae," Peeta greets as he turns discreetly back to the sink to hide his erection.

"Morning, Peeta, Katniss," she greets. "Thought I would head over and see if you have anything for me to do here. It doesn't take more than a minute to clean my little place even with that mess of pups underfoot." We laugh. "Speaking of which, you're dog will be ready end of week. Sadie's got her housebroke and everything."

Peeta nods agreeably. "We probably could use some help here, and at my old place, Sae. I've been thinking about setting up a temporary bakery over there and maybe use it as a rooming house for awhile until we can get the housing situation under control."

"Be glad to help in anyway. In fact, Missy, I'll take over here and let you go about your business." She gently pushes me aside, and while dishes aren't my favorite thing to do, I don't mind as much with Peeta at my side and I was hoping for another rendezvous with him but now, with Sae here, that possibility is off the table.

"Well, I should get going," I say as I dry my hands on a towel. Peeta looks over Sae and offers a wink. "Have a good day." I grab the lunch that Peeta made this morning and head outside.

As I round the corner of the house, I'm greeted with the squawks coming from Haymitch's geese. He's got a dozen geese with three young ones sitting on nests. The ganders flap their wings menacingly as I approach but when I grab their feed bag, they all gather round. "You guys hungry?" I ask quietly but I really want a closer look. I can already picture one of these fine young ganders with golden brown skin, sitting in the midst of our table.

"Goose thief!" Haymitch yells at me as I put the feed bag back. I turn on my heel not yet ready to confront him yet. "Whoa, where you going, Sweetheart?"

At that, I turn on him. "How long?"

He looks at me in confusion. "How long what?"

"How the hell long did you know about the rebellion? About the plans to rescue me and not Peeta?"

"Come on, Sweetheart … ."

"No, you come on? How long, Haymitch and don't give me any of your usual bullshit. I want the truth."

He sighs heavily and steps onto the porch, sitting down on the top step. "Ever since I became a victor, there was talk, all kinds of talk. About a rebellion, and what we would do if …," Haymitch didn't meet my eyes. "But we always knew we needed a catalyst. Someone who would light a fire."

It feels like my legs were kicked out from under me and I drop to the ground. "Through the years, there were possibilities. Zeba from District 8 who won the 61st. She was a twig of a girl who snapped necks like a brittle piece of wood. Kind of defied logic. But then after she won, Snow took a special interest in her, and well, she committed suicide a year later when she just turned seventeen." I shudder in spite of myself.

"Finnick was another but he was deemed too 'public' and none of the districts trusted him once the photos circulated of him in the Capitol on the arms of men and women. Then, there was Johanna. But her mouth was too big. Annie? She was too unstable." He's looking at my house as he speaks.

"And then, boom, along came not one but two fire starters," he says as he shakes his head in recall. "Peeta was blessed with the gift of words, but you, girl, had fire. You showed loyalty and protectiveness when you volunteered. Bravery, tenacity and survival when you were in the arena, and once again, damned loyalty. The buzz started before you were even a victor."

"You were thinking of me to front the revolution before I was even a victor?"

"Oh, not me, Sweetheart, but Plutarch was definitely. When you pulled the berries from your pocket, the decision was made. They wanted you. After the ball in the Capitol at the end of the tour, we had a meeting and decisions were made. Cinna was brought in to the mix and that's when he started working on the Mockingjay costume. At the time, though, no one knew what the Quell would bring in terms of tributes. We were planning for both you and Peeta. You would be the fierce face and Peeta would be the voice."

It's a lot to take in, and I'm quiet for the moment.

"Plutarch said the tributes would be three from each district. Then the card was read, and well the rest is history."

"But when did you decide to choose me over Peeta."

He sighs heavily. "It wasn't my choice, Katniss. Coin wanted Peeta. Plutarch wanted you."

"Why not both?"

His shoulders droop. "Because they discussed it and decided that neither of you would likely lead the revolution if both of you were rescued." There, it was said. It was out in the open. There never was a plan to rescue both of us. One had to be held hostage in order to make the other perform. In this case, though, both of us were held hostage because if I had not been rescued, Peeta would not have tried to survive in the first place and would not have appeared with Flickerman. The plan was cruel in the extreme. Possibly even worse than the actual Hunger Games because these were supposedly our own allies.

"So Peeta was the sacrifice?" Haymitch does not reply, only a slight dip of his head. "The plan was to split us up so there would be an excuse not to rescue us both?" His head drops and he won't look at me. "Haymitch, I trusted you. You promised me that Peeta would survive." My voice is barely under control.

"He did survive, Sweetheart. He's right across the street."

"At what cost, Haymitch? At what cost?" He doesn't answer. "I will tell you the cost. Aside with putting his love for me in jeopardy, he will suffer episodes for … who knows how long. Years maybe. The rest of his life. Episodes that at the very least leave him gripping the back of a chair to maintain control and at worst leave him trembling and defeated. He's fragile now, Haymitch. Neither of us knows what will trigger an episode, so we walk on pins and needles sometimes."

He's staring at the woods now and doesn't acknowledge me. "You, Haymitch, you nearly took his life from him. I hate you. You made choices you had no right to make. Leave us the hell alone, and you better not ever offer him liquor again? Do you hear me?" He nods, and I stalk off toward town.

I walk the distance in half the time fueled by anger. "Hey, Katniss!" Thom greets, and I can only manage a grunt of recognition. I grab the necessary tools and head toward a section of houses with a red "X" on each door. The "X" signifies that it has been cleared and ready for demolition. By cleared I mean, the bodies have been removed. If there's a number beside the "X", it signifies the number of people found. The door I choose says "7" on it. Seven merchant lives perished in this house.

I dawn my mask before I get too far in. When the bodies were first removed, the Capitol supplied gas masks similar to what we wore in the sewer system. But today, I'm wearing a much simpler model with a small tank that filters the air and removes the odor. I stop by the sheet of paper tacked to the wall which reads "Hetterly" and realize that I don't know anyone by that name and yet seven people died here. They were likely part of the government which was the largest employer in the District.

As I make my way through the house, I debate on the best place to start. We usually knock out the windows from the outside so that all the glass is contained. The walls have a dingy gray appearance just like all the rest of the houses, though a lighter shade than on the houses in the Seam. You can still see where pictures hung. All personal items have been boxed and removed to storage tents in the event someone claims them.

The kitchen doorway has some markings on it. The lowest one is "Martha - 3" and is about thirty inches from the floor. They graduate in height to "Hezekiah - 12" at about five feet. Their are five marks in all. Slowly the picture forms: mother, father and five children. All dead.

I swing my axe randomly at cupboards and countertops. My anger is absolute. First Haymitch and now this — the bombing, the direct result of what happened in the arena. I was not to blame I realize. Everyone who kept the plans a secret from me were to blame for the slaughter of 8,500 people.

As I hack away, I realize that tears are streaming down my face for a family I did not know. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Thom, who motions me outside.

"You okay?" I nod but not convincingly.

"Thom, what time did the bombs drop."

"Oh, it wasn't your fault. No one blames you."

"Right, but it was not quite midnight in the arena … ."

"Oh right. I forgot. Let's see, it was about 3:15 in the afternoon I would say. Not quite an hour before the electricity was cut, a few seconds after you hit the forcefield. We had been hearing humming since the games started and it wasn't until later I figured it was the hovercrafts. They were just up there waiting."

I swallow hard. "They controlled everything in the arena. Even days and nights," I add bitterly.

"Yep. We were surprised that you were able to keep up with the clock idea because they had changed hours to just forty-five minutes." My head jerks up at the realization. Even that little bit of intel would have helped us to survive. I can't help but laugh that the organizers of the revolution left our survival in the hands of others and luck as well.

Thom eyes me in confusion, wondering why I'm laughing. How could I ever explain? What would he think if he knew? "Come on, Katniss. We've got a long day ahead of us."

And so we do. We work until midday and eat lunch. Peeta packed enough cheese buns for the our crew, and they enjoy the treat. He also packed an apple, orange and a muffin. I feel rejuvenated as we finish the houses and wait for the small mechanized machine to push the remains into a single pile.

As the pile of rubble mounts, Thom makes his way over to me. "Looks like the next block is mostly salvageable," he says as he nods in the direction of a row of houses standing mostly straight and tall. This is how it's been, some blocks left virtually intact, while the next are broken ruins.

We make our way over and I notice that none of the houses have either an "X" or a number. "Are they … have they been cleared?"

"Yes, I think so," he says quietly. He pushes the door open and I notice that all the personal effects still remain. The photos on the walls, and assorted brick brack. It feels like we're intruding. There are still clean dishes on the table as if they were prepping for an early supper. Not uncommon during the games as everyone was required to watch the evening recaps that began at 5:30. There's a pot of what might have been soup on the old stove.

We walk through the house as if our steps might stir up ghosts. Only a handful of merchants survived and traveled to 13. But it's possible that some escaped to the woods but did not make it to the cabin.

Upstairs, I open the door to one of the rooms. The bed is unmade and a flowered quilt drapes on the floor. The open closet shows four dresses, and there's a journal next to the bed. I open it and read the first lines, "My name is Roaney Harper. I'm 16 and in the same grade as Katniss and Peeta who were just reaped. Peeta is so handsome and it will be a shame to lose him from our grade."

I close the book quickly and head out of the room, down the stairs and out onto the porch. Roaney Harper lived here. Roaney who was rude and mean and called me "Catpiss" for years. Roaney who tried to dance with Peeta at the mayor's house during the tour. Yet my heart breaks for her and her family and I can't quite place the sadness that washes over me.

"I think you should head home now, Katniss," Thom's voice is gentle. He seems to understand that in spite of my tough facade over the past two years, only a fragile shell remains of that girl. I agree at once and start for home.

When I arrive, I can hear music coming from our room. The door is shut and locked, so I knock. Peeta peeks out at me, "Hey, you're home early. I've got those little critters on the run," he grins widely, and then notices my mood. He steps out quickly, "What's the matter?" I fall into his arms. There's just too much, so I shake my head and he holds me close. "Go take a bath," he says nodding to the bathroom down the hall.

I slip into the tub and spend the next hour letting the warm water wash away today's sorrow. Eventually, I hear Peeta's voice calling me to dinner. He keeps the conversation going and that night we listen to music before bed. Peeta lifts me up and carries me to my old room. Making love on that bed leaves something to be desired. We're already spoiled by the size of our new bed, but still I love our new found closeness.

Peeta rises early, and I soon follow but today I decide that I will head to the woods rather than back into town. I need the time away because its difficult working on the townsite, knowing that my actions caused all of the devastation. There's a muffin and juice waiting for me downstairs, but Peeta is already at work eradicating all those nasty little bugs in our room.

The woods are cathartic. As I step through the forest with the grassing swishing mid-calf, I spot a doe and two fawns. I maneuver until I'm downwind and watch as the two spotted babies play and cavort, a smile teasing at the corner of my mouth. Soon enough, the alert mother takes notice of me and sprints in the opposite direction with the two tiny ones following close behind.

I shake my head and smile wider as I realize how much I've changed. Not so long ago, I might have considered taking them for food but now I'm content to let them be. In fact, even though I hold my bow today, I don't have plans to take anything. Peeta and I discussed that, until fall, there was no need for game unless we had a hankering for something wild.

I find a small patch of strawberries and pick them before wandering on. Eventually, I find myself at the overlook where Gale and I spent so much time. My thoughts go to him and I wonder whatever happened to the boy I considered my best friend. I haven't spoken to him since the day I assassinated Coin.

It's been several days since he was on television and a part of me wants to confront him as I did Haymitch, but another part of me realizes that I would be content if I never saw him again. There's a bit of sadness as I realize this. The man I saw on television that night was not the person who hunted by me all those years. Somewhere during the war, that version of Gale was lost forever.

I gasp in surprise as I realize that Peeta had vowed to never let them change him. It took an evil plot to alter Peeta, and even then, he fought his way back to essentially the person he was before, putting others before himself.

I wish we had made love this morning. Now that we've crossed the threshold, I simply cannot get enough and I find myself fantasizing about him. For a moment, I consider touching myself but can't quite bring myself to do it out in the open.

Still, I can't help letting my mind wander. He's filling out nicely since his return. His waist is slim but his chest is beginning to broaden and his muscles in his arms are really quite … impressive. When we were in the Capitol on tour, there was a man who had the tiniest head set atop a massive body. Peeta and I giggled together wondering who would find that attract. But Peeta is perfect. I love to run my hand through the downy hair on his chest to the rippling muscles of his stomach.

If I don't stop thinking about him, I will definitely touch myself soon. I sigh and roll to my stomach and soon drift to sleep. When I wake up, the sun has made its way past the high point and is now trailing toward the western sky and I estimate that it's around five o'clock, so I push myself to my feet and begin the trek home.

Back home, I enter the kitchen to find Sae busily preparing supper. "Shoot anything good out there, dearie?"

"No, mainly just walking around and thinking." I reach for the plates and set the table quickly knowing that her eyes on me. Eventually, she's satisfied that the "thinking" I was doing was not detrimental. We talk about little things and she describes the plan she and Peeta have hatched to turn his house into a temporary bakery and he's allowing Sae to make meals that she can serve to the workers.

"There's more men than women here now, and I'm afraid the single ladies are getting more than their share," she looks at me pointedly.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I've seen a few men eyeing me and I'm just glad I have Peeta."

"More than just a few girl. I'll be glad when that pup grows up some. You need to be extra careful and not wander around alone too much."

Sae moves the kettle to the table and I head upstairs, meeting Peeta as he comes out of the room, a strong smelling solvent trailing him. "Supper time," I announce. He pauses a moment for me to reach him and kisses me. He looks tired and his fingers are stained yellow from whatever he is using. "Progress?"

He nods. "One more day, I think, but I will have to work some this evening." I sigh because I was looking forward to having some time with him but the sooner he is finished the quicker we can move back in.

After supper, he returns to his work, and I finish the dishes and head upstairs for a bath before bed. Later, I pull back the covers and pick up a book, promising myself that I will only read a few minutes but fall asleep soon after. When I awaken, Peeta is beside me still fully dressed and snoring lightly. He's exhausted, and I move to help him undress, removing his shoes and socks.

He startles when I reach for the button on his pants. "Hey," I say quietly.

"Hey," he responds with a slight grin. I move to kiss him and he rolls me smoothly to my back, glancing at the bedside clock. "I guess it's official." I look at him curiously. "Happy Birthday, Katniss."

So it is. My birthday. Eighteen. For a moment I'm lost in time. The past two years have been marred by one hellish event after another. I've cheated death more times than I can count. My body bears the scars of a knife wound, a bullet and fire.

Peeta kisses me lightly at first and then a bit harder. He leans back and looks deeply into my eyes. "Come on," he says, as he stands and grabs my hand. Before I know it, I'm out the door and we are standing in front of the double doors leading to our room. "Close your eyes," he commands.

I do as he says, and he pulls me forward. "I was going to wait until I was finished, but it's taking me longer than I thought, but Happy Birthday, Katniss."

I open my eyes and discover that I'm standing inside what can only be described as an oasis. I gasp as I take in the east wall that has been transformed into a sunrise peaking above a meadow filled with dandelions. The sky is the perfect shade of blue that nearly matches Peeta's eyes.

He's placed a large, plush dark green rug on the floor that resembles grass. The bedspread is the hunter green one with dogwood blossoms that I had pointed out earlier. The windows are framed with matching curtains.

A second mural adorns the west wall and features a sunset over the lake. The same sunset that he sketched the first time I took him there. Peeta turns me slightly and I see, yet another mural on the south wall, and this one makes me cry out. He's captured my woods — perfectly. I walk toward it and reach my hand out to touch it. He's even painted in a squirrel, rabbit and some birds.

"It's beautiful," I whisper in the most reverent tone I can muster. Our room, my dandelions, Peeta's sunset, my woods. It's perfect. He reaches around my waist, and I drop my head back on his shoulder.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm eighteen-years-old. I survived two Hunger Games. I survived a rebellion. I survived the assassination of President Coin. I live in District 12. It was destroyed by bombs, but we are rebuilding. My mother lives in District 4. Prim is dead. I live with Peeta Mellark. I'm in love with Peeta Mellark. He is the one I need to survive.


	13. The Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings are the property of Suzanne Collins.

In terms of birthdays, this is like none other. Sometimes Peeta reminds me of my dad. He was the birthday maker and gift giver in our house.  
  
It takes me several minutes to look over the entire room, our room. I drift between the murals and touch them. Had I told him that he's my dandelion? Each of the murals looks so real that it appears you could walk right into the midst. I don't know which I like better.  
  
Eventually, Peeta pulls me to the bed, where in spite of the exhaustion he obviously felt, we make love, slowly and almost reverently. "I love you, Katniss Everdeen. I always have and I always will." He kissed me passionately.  
  
"I love you, Peeta Mellark. I can't say I always have but I always will."  Sometimes it surprises even me how quickly I offer him my love these days, but it seems so natural and right that it would be wrong to suppress it.  
  
We end up sleeping late. Very late. Peeta eventually wakens me with a breakfast of fresh blueberry pancakes and sausages. We eat mainly in silence with occasional giggles thrown in.  
  
As we finish up, he turns to me sheepishly and says that he has a few more gifts. The first two are paintings of the sketches that he made earlier — the one of me and my father that he made for the book. It's incredible in its detail, and the second is of me standing in shadow by the lake, with the same sunset that adorns our wall, in the background.  
  
"They're wonderful," I say as I gaze from one to the other. "Where shall we hang them?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking, this one could go on this side of the bed," he picks up the one with my father and places it on the side of the bed that I sleep on, the only plain wall left in the bedroom. "This one," he picks up the one of me in shadow, "can go over here." He places it to the side of the sunset mural, and it seems to give the mural a perspective. As if to show, that I viewed it with my own eyes.  
  
"Perfect."  
  
"You really like them?"  
  
"Peeta, I love everything you do, even if I sometimes don't like the subject." He leans in for a kiss.  
  
"I have a few more things," he admits again shyly. He bought me a new game bag and new arrows. They are perfectly balanced with bright feathers on the end to keep track of them in the woods.  
  
But it's his last two gifts that I treasure most. The first is a sketchbook with PEETA MELLARK written in very childlike script. "I told you I noticed you long before you noticed me." Inside were rough sketches of me throughout childhood at random times. Me in front of the music class singing in my little red and white checked dress. Me jumping rope on the playground. My father and I entering the bakery. As the drawings progressed so does the clarity of each.  
  
There were other drawings inside as well. His and Delly's chalk drawings, an old swing that hung from the tree in his back yard. One of his brothers wrestling on the floor of what must have been their living room. The inside of the bakery, a perfect cupcake. But it's obvious that he wants me to have his early work because of the sketches of me.  
  
His final gift is a self-portrait. I don't know for sure how or when he was able to capture himself in this manner, but he's lying on the bed, the sheet draped across his midsection. He's bare chested and leaning back on the pillows, his head turned to the side so I see it in profile. I clutch it to my chest, unable to speak for a moment.  
  
"Is it okay?" Peeta's nervous.  
  
"I love it," I exclaim as I rush to his side of the bed and place it on the hanger, standing back to adjust it slightly.  
  
"I was thinking somewhere a little more private," he says with an edge of concern in his voice.  
  
"Really? Just how many people do you think will be entering this room?" He grins at me. "Besides, it's not like you are completely naked or anything."  
  
"Well then, I want to exchange that picture," he points to the portrait of my father and me, "with another one." He quickly leaves the room and returns with one of me, the sheet strategically draped and my head turned to the side as if I'm staring straight across at the portrait of Peeta. "He wants someone to look at," his grin is wide and real.  
  
"Uh," I'm not sure I want my picture hanging right out in the open though I have to admit he's painted me to look beautiful, which I know I'm not.  He did include my fading scars but still.  
  
"It's only fair. If half-naked Peeta has to be on display, then so does half-naked Katniss. Besides, just how many people do you expect to be entering this room?"  
  
Point taken. I smile shyly in his direction. 

We head to the lake and Peeta has his second swimming lesson. Since no one was around, we strip naked and step into the still cool water. Peeta complains about the effect of the cold water on his penis, but it only makes me laugh which makes him dunk me from behind.  
  
Eventually, we became accustomed to the water, and Peeta demonstrates his floating skills and quickly learns some basic strokes. Together, we swim out several yards and back to shore.  
  
The day is warm and we find ourselves lying on the beach still naked and enjoying the sun. Somewhere along the way, I've lost my inhibitions around Peeta. There's a warm wind that quickly dries our skin, and Peeta returns to "normal" again.  
  
"Whew! I was hoping it wouldn't stay that way," he jokes as he rolls toward me, "You're beautiful, you know that?"  
  
His compliment embarrasses me but I look into his eyes and see only love reflected back. He grins at me and leans in for a kiss. Almost at once, it grows heated, and I feel the now familiar wetness accumulating at my center. Peeta moves his hand to my breast and his strong fingers begin to knead it — palming and pressing, and occasionally pinching slightly.  
  
He kisses down my neck and finally stops at my collarbone where he sucks gently for several seconds. Several times he dips his chin and sucks the tender skin. He moves his leg over the top of me and kneels with his legs positioned outside my thighs. He's already hard and it draws my attention.  
  
"And just what are you staring at Miss Everdeen?" His voice is husky and sexy sounding.  
  
Instead of answering, I reach out and grabbed hold, pulling him toward me. As my tongue flicks out, Peeta draws back. "No, Miss Everdeen. Today is about you." With that, he slides backward and lowers his head to my nipples. For the majority of my life, they were simply just there, devoid of any purpose. But as Peeta sucks and nibbles, my stomach clenches in the now familiar precursor to orgasm.  
  
He navigates between my two breasts lavishing attention on both. But as I arch my hips in desperate need of release, Peeta raises his head and smiles devilishly.  
  
"What do you want, Katniss? What do you want for your birthday?"  
  
I lick my lips still not completely comfortable voicing my needs and wants. "I want … you, Peeta, p-p-please."  
  
He grins at me as his fingers continue to work my nipples into hard little peaks that nearly ache. "What, Katniss? Tell me what you want me to do. Today, I'm yours to do with what you want."  
  
Up until that moment I was quite satisfied with whatever Peeta did in any order but now given the choice, I really want him to lick me but I'm not sure whether I dare ask or not.  
  
"Tell me," his voice is forceful but loving.  
  
"I want … you …," I started off strong but my voice weakened to a whisper, "to lick me." I can't meet his eyes and wasn't sure he heard me. But all of sudden, Peeta moves further back, releasing my thighs from the grip of his legs, and pulled my knees up and apart.  
  
"With pleasure," he said as he pushes his face into my crotch and his tongue thoroughly explored me. "Keep talking, Katniss. Tell me where and what you want me to do."  
  
I am panting by this point. "Suck it. My clit. Suck it." I know I am barely coherent but Peeta's mouth encircles my clit as he alternates sucking and nibbling. "Put your fingers in," I say, as I buck against him. "More. Curl them." And then I'm out of words, merely moaning to encourage him.  
  
He uses his teeth to steady my clit and then runs his tongue back and forth over the top. One more curl of his fingers, and my entire body begins to quake in orgasm. Peeta pulls away for a second and the next thing I feel is him pushing into me as my walls flutter around him. He groans deeply and I respond with a moan as I feel his balls brush my ass.  
  
Peeta waits for me to adjust and when I finally open my eyes, he kisses me deeply, our tongues clashing together and I taste myself on him, pushing me toward another orgasm. As our kiss subsides, I whisper. "Fuck me, Peeta. Fuck me hard and fast." His eyes darken to a stormy blue, and a wicked grin graces his face.  
  
He pulls back and pushes in quickly and then he sits up slightly bringing my legs to his shoulders. All at once his hips begin a fast, hard assault as his eyes bore into mine. I feel myself quickly approaching another orgasm and reach down to help myself along. Peeta's eyes leave mine as he looks down brushing my hand out of the way. His fingers dip to where we're joined and he swirls them in our combined juiced before bringing them back and focussing on the swollen bud.  
  
A minute later I'm coming hard and my insides gripped him so forcefully, that he ceases moving for several seconds. Just as my orgasm ends, Peeta's begins with a heavy groan. I feel his cock pulse inside me and watch his face contort before he releases my legs and slumps forward, panting hard.  
  
"I never would have guessed this would be such a workout," Peeta whispers, "or I would have included it in our regimen last spring." It takes me a moment to process what he said and then laughter takes over and I can't stop. Peeta joins me and together we laugh until tears come.  
  
"Can you imagine?" I gasp. "Okay, Haymitch give me ten laps. Katniss come with me for seven minutes of fast fucking." It's the first time I've used the word outside of when we are in the midst of sex.  Peeta looks at me, eyebrows raised which causes more laughter.  
  
Eventually, he pulls out and I miss the feeling of him as he slips to the side. We're quiet for several moments as we look at one another. He brushes a piece of hair away from my cheek. "I love you," he whispers.  
  
"I love you too." I hesitate a moment before going on, "Peeta, were your … parents affectionate?" I've always wondered but now as his eyes drift from my body back to my face, I wonder whether I should have asked.  
  
"Uh … no not really, why?"  
  
"I … I was just wondering how you learned to be so affectionate. I mean … ."  
  
"Oh that," he chuckles. "I guess, well, when you really love someone you don't have to work at it, it just happens." He tenderly cups his hand to my cheek. "But when I was little, my grandma, my dad's mom used to say, 'Peeta, you are a charmer. It's either going to be your greatest asset or your biggest downfall.'" He smiles as he recalls that moment. "My dad was a charmer, so I take after him. But I will tell you the real motivation for me was your parents."  
  
"What?" I question, almost indignantly.  
  
"Your dad used to take your mom and you guys shopping on Saturdays, and I remember him walking down the street holding her hand. They would look into the windows and laugh." His eyes are faraway, "And you and Prim would be holding hands just behind them. Sometimes he would lean over and kiss her cheek and she would smile at him with a look in her eyes that I wanted for myself one day. I wanted that little girl to one day look at me the same way her mom looked at her dad." He's very serious now and intertwines our fingers.  
  
"I had never really seen any couple, merchant or Seam look at each other the way they did and I knew it had to be something special. So, every time I saw them together, I studied your dad to figure out what he was doing to get that kind of look in return. The soft caresses. The sweet kisses." He leans forward and kisses my cheek. "But it didn't work. The key ingredient was to get her to fall in love with me."  
  
"Does she …," my voice falters slightly. "Does she look at you the way you want now?"  
  
"Even better," his voice is no more than a whisper, and with that we were lost in one another again.  
  
Eventually, we dress and start for home. "I want to build a house by the lake one day," Peeta declares.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Not this year, or next year, probably, but one day. It'll be our hideaway. We'll have to keep our other homes, but I want one just for us. I spent a lot of time reading in the Capitol and planning. I was … well … hoping we would one day find each other. But anyway, I read a lot of history and looked through books and things called magazines and I found a house made of logs that I think would be perfect."  
  
For several minutes, we discuss the house and then Peeta swings the conversation in an entirely different direction. "I want to travel. Remember on the train as we passed through the countryside and saw remnants of old towns that once were?" I nod. "I want to see those. I want to know our past. We've only studied history from the Dark Days forward. We need to know what happened before."  
  
I stop for a moment considering his words and thinking about something I discovered years ago while foraging. I'm not sure I even remember the exact location but there's plenty of daylight so I pull his hand and we move in a southerly direction until we reach a very steep hill. Peeta does not question our detour, and merely follows quietly.  
  
"In mid-summer, this hillside will be full of blueberries. We'll come here to pick, but I want to show you something." We begin the climb and eventually reach the top and make our way across.  
  
"I feel kind of like I'm walking to the edge of an arena," Peeta says, and I know the feeling, but we continue on . As we push through some brush, he sees it for the first time and gasps. Two wide, gray roads push in either direction, stretching as far as we can see. Peeta starts toward them and I follow.  
  
There's the remains of a broken fence which we push through and then we're standing in the center of one of the roads. "Concrete," he whispers as he stamps his foot against it, and looks in both directions. There are faded yellow and white markings, and a blue and red metal sign nearby with the number "65" on it. "I've read about these, Katniss. It's called a  freeway. People used to drive cars everywhere." In the distance we can see a concrete bridge with more signs tacked to it. "This would be a great starting point, don't you think?" He's excited and I feel it too.

Traveling with Peeta. Being alone beyond the fence doesn't frighten me. In fact, few things frighten me anymore after surviving two Hunger Games and the rebellion. Exploring the past has a certain allure to it. "I think you're right."

"I can't believe how close this is. I never dreamed that the past is this close to our district," he says, his voice full of awe. "Just imagine ...," he starts, as we head back home. The rest of our journey is consumed by tales that Peeta learned while in the Capitol, and I decide that I want to learn them too. Peeta decides to have books sent to us so that we can plan. He speaks of atlases and books called encyclopedias, and I can't wait.

As we approach the house, we smell the familiar scent of lamb stew. I look at Peeta, who just smiles in return.  
  
Sae and Sadie are working on lamb stew complete with plums and special biscuits. As we enter the kitchen, they greet me with "Happy Birthday!" I glance at the table and notice five place settings and knew immediately that Haymitch is coming. I'm still unhappy with him but decide to let it be since Peeta and Sae have gone through all the trouble of surprising me.  
  
Haymitch arrives shortly and we sit down to eat. Haymitch mostly keeps his head down and grunts responses to any comment directed his way. Thankfully, Peeta and Sae keep conversation going with plans for the Hob and his plans for a new bakery. After we finish, Peeta clears the plates and then ducks into the refrigerator and emerges with the most beautiful cake I have ever seen.  
  
He has decorated the cake with dandelions, trailing the green stems over the sides of the cake and onto the platter. "Happy Birthday, Katniss!" I'm overwhelmed but feel the need to say something.  
  
"Thanks everyone," I say as I stare at the cake. "More often than not, I thought I would never see this birthday. There were even times I …," but I don't let myself finish. "The past two months have taught me to hope again." I look at Peeta and he returns a soft smile to me. There's so much more I could have said, but I leave it there.  
  
Peeta cuts the cake and we all have a piece. One layer of chocolate and another layer of white with a creamy-rich frosting. "Mmmmm, Peeta! This is the best cake I've ever eaten!"  
  
"Well, I realized I didn't know your favorite flavor of cake so I decided to make two standard flavors." He holds a forkful up to examine it closer. "Turned out okay, I think."  
  
"Huh! You know it's good, boy. You're just fishing for compliments." It's the first coherent thing Haymitch has contributed to the evening, and I shoot him a glare before his eyes drop back to his plate. Peeta notices and catches my eye. I still haven't told him what happened between Haymitch and me, and I just shake my head in response.  
  
"Well, uh, how about presents?" Sae interjects in a hopeful tone. She pushes a long, slender box toward me.  
  
"Sae, you didn't have to get me anything." I mean it too. How many times had my birthday passed with barely a thought? Inside is a new hunting knife with a finely etched handle. "It's beautiful." I reach for her and hug her quickly.  
  
Haymitch hands me a crudely wrapped gift that turns out to be a leather bound book. I page through quickly and find every page blank. "It's a journal," he clears his throat uneasily. "I think you should write everything down. Get it on paper. Your side of things, if you will." I finally comprehend that he wants me to write down the events of the past two years from my perspective, and the thought causes my hands to tremble.  
  
"Sweetheart," he starts, addressing me by my now familiar nickname. "There's going to be a lot of people writing their sides of things." It's the way he says it that seems almost like a warning to me. "I think the best perspective is from the 'girl on fire' herself. First person, none of this third person bullshit from someone who wasn't even there." I nod and know what this was about. It was Haymitch's version of a peace offering. He knew nothing would make up for what happened to Peeta and ultimately it was between the two of them to work out. We had always had a way of communicating that went beyond words, and I knew instinctively this was more than just writing my account. It was about writing the truth.  
  
Peeta hands me a brightly colored box from Effie. Inside was an equally bright colored vase. Obviously Capitol-designed, the vase was a myriad of colors that shimmered and twinkled as light caught it.  
  
"That's … interesting," Peeta says by way of compliment.  
  
"It'll look real nice …," Sae's voice trails off as she considered where it might look real nice.  
  
I pull a note out that had been placed inside and read it aloud. "Dear Katniss. Happy 18th Birthday! I'm sending along this vase in the hopes that it will brighten your home. It's called a "Vase of Dreams," and you are to make a wish each time you catch a different sparkle of light from it. I've finally received my work assignment and it seems that I will still be assigned to you and Peeta," my heart lurches and I find Peeta's eyes that reflected concern. "I'm handling the vast amounts of fan mail that has been redirected here to the Capitol. There are requests for signed Mockingjay photos and just autographs as well. I will be calling soonest to work out the details. Hugs. Effie."  
  
"Fan mail?" I ask incredulously.  
  
"Well, it might just be Effie's niche," Peeta says and winks in my direction. "No need to concern ourselves with it tonight." I smile gratefully.  
  
I also receive cards from Mom, Johanna and Annie, and "personal maintenance" items from my old prep team.  
  
Peeta passes one more box. It's small and as I open it I gasp. Inside is my pearl, our pearl, mounted to a pendent and suspended from a delicate chain. Words catch in my throat, and Peeta hurries to help me clasp it around my neck.  
  
"Excuse me," I say and get up and head outside before the tears fell. The pearl means so much to me. Peeta gave it to me intending it for a remembrance of himself but it turned into a sign of hope during those dark days in District 13. The memories flood back of the many times that Prim consoled me as I held tight to the Pearl, and I realize how much she would have loved this little celebration today.  
  
For the first time in weeks, a hollowness sets in my heart missing the little girl who I had mothered since she was seven. I sob, tears and snot making their way down my face in equal portions. The sky darkens and eventually Peeta brings out a blanket and wraps it around my shoulders. He sits down beside me and places his arms around me pulling me to him.  
  
"Sorry," he whispers.  
  
"No it's beautiful, and everything was perfect. It just brought back so many memories and I'm glad you're safe, but then I thought about Prim and how she would have loved to be here and … ."  
  
"Katniss, this will probably sound dumb but sometimes I feel like she is here. Or maybe that she knows. Like she isn't too far away and she's keeping an eye on us."  
  
I breathe deeply and nod, feeling peace surround me.  
  
"Shortly after I came home, I went to the bakery, and I was so angry. I kicked the bricks and I cursed the Capitol. There was almost nothing left and then I found my dad's beat up old measuring cups, and I sat right down and cried."  
  
"Oh Peeta, why didn't you tell me?"  
  
He shakes his head, "Well, as I was sitting there, this gust of wind picked up and I noticed something catch in the breeze to the side. I looked closer and there was an envelope with my name on the front in Dad's writing. I picked it up and plain as day, I could hear my father's voice, 'Son, it's up to you now.' I startled and looked around but there was no one."  
  
I grip his arm more tightly. "For a long time after the bombing, I would try to remember my family. I would only get bits and pieces. A fragment here, a fragment there but it was the things I couldn't remember that bothered me most. Like the sound of my dad's laughter, or the smell of Thatch's cologne when he was getting ready for a date. Or the color of Rusk's eyes. I was afraid I would never remember them," he pauses and pulls me closer.  
  
"So then, I just started to focus on one good memory of each of them. I remember my dad teaching me the Mellark family recipe for frosting when I was eight. I remember Thatch helping me build a fort and," he laughs, "dreaming it would someday be our house." I laugh too. "I remember Rusk putting me in headlocks and rubbing his knuckles in my hair and the first time I was able to turn the tables on him."  
  
He leans his head on mine. "They never really leave us, Katniss. They live on through us. Other people will know them through us and it will be less painful to remember them."  
  
I lean in and kiss him. "Never change, Peeta." His smile is gentle and warm and so Peeta-esque. In spite of everything, Peeta remains my "boy with bread."  
  
Eventually, we go back inside and make our way upstairs to our bedroom. Again, I marvel at the serene place Peeta has created for the two of us. We make love before sleeping, and for the first time, Prim visits in me in my dreams and wishes me "Happy Birthday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update will be during Labor Day weekend. Hope you enjoyed!


	14. Penance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback!

An attack of paralyzing depression occurred about a week after my birthday, hitting me out of the blue. No, not out of the blue. The depression had been there, in the background for awhile, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness for some time like a mutt from the arena.  
  
I've heard it said that smells can be one of the most reliable memory triggers, and it seems so for me because on that day, I was walking through the forest, not particularly looking for anything, just kind of restless. Peeta had stayed back to finish the murals and I promised him I would be home early for lunch. Except I wasn't counting on smelling "it." Nor was I expecting such a vicious reaction.  
  
The woods are full of smells at different times of the year. Springtime is one of the most potent as the forest comes back to life. Around District 12, the smells change daily as new plants bud and blossom. I hadn't walked very far when I smelled it before I saw it and I turned sharply. There it was in full bloom, an eastern red bud or as my dad called, a spicewood,  
  
My brain was swiftly assaulted by memories: the first time I ventured into the woods alone, I had come across this very tree in a similar state of bloom, and like the dandelion, I felt a surge of hope. Seeing it and more importantly, smelling it, now brought a sense of desperation to me. The feeling roiled within me, spreading to my limbs.  
  
I dropped to my knees as memories of seven-year-old Prim came to me, her eyes so bright when she saw the beautiful blossoms in my father's game bag. Each spring I brought some home as I found it. But last year, instead of using it to flavor the game I caught, Prim gathered them and put them in a vase. I was a little put out because I loved the flavoring it provided to the meat, but didn't say anything because I believed in just a few short weeks, I would be lying six feet under on Tribute Hill.  
  
It's ironic that even in death, the tributes through the years were set apart by decree of the Capitol. When someone died in the games, their body was sent back home to lie in the Justice Building for seven days before burial. Everyone in the District, was required to file by and look at the remains and sign a Book of Remembrance.   
  
The last tribute I saw laid out in the Justice Building was Coral Sharpe. She was a year younger then me, just fourteen when she was reaped. The Capitol did nothing to repair the damage inflicted in the arena, and Coral's face and neck had been all but destroyed by the knife wielding tribute from District 1. I remember shivering when I saw her and thinking that somehow I had to get through the next three reapings. What a joke that was!   
  
After the tribute's time in the Justice Building was up, everyone in the district was required to line the streets while a tired old horse led by one of the parents, walked the coffin to Tribute Hill. President Snow's voice would be heard on the loudspeakers: "This serves as a reminder that the Capitol will always be victorious because the districts are weak."  
  
So, last spring I was resolved not to see another spring. I had already accepted my fate that I would die saving Peeta. Except Prim didn't know this at the time. I think she guessed though and later, in 13, I got the impression that she was on the verge of asking me about it. But she never did.   
  
As these memories and others assaulted me, I rolled to the side as sobs wracked my body and a blackness overtook me that felt like I had fallen in a pit. I cried my way through thoughts of Prim, of my father, and then each of the tributes from my first games, some of whom I never even knew their name.  
  
I was unaware of time passing until I felt my body lifted from the ground and knew it was Peeta, again by scent alone. Cinnamon and sugar clung to him, and the combination is intoxicating most of the time, but offered only comfort on this day. My head bobbed on his shoulder and I could hear soft words but could not make them out.  
  
He carried me out of the woods and back to our house where he laid me on our bed. True to his word earlier, Peeta let me wallow in my world of darkness the rest of the day and the next, but by the second morning, he pulled me roughly from the covers and carried me to the shower. Peeta was heedless of my protests as he stripped me bare and pulled me into the shower where the cold water made me sputter indignantly.  
  
Peeta didn't ask what had happened to make me lose myself. He didn't have to. He knows that, despite our life together, I'm still a rather fragile creature. Instead, he chose to talk about the present and future as he dried me off and combed my hair. As showers go, it was hardly romantic and for a moment I felt guilt that he was stuck with such a broken girl.  
  
"Katniss, I arranged for Dr. Aurelius to call this morning right after breakfast," his tone had a finality to it. "Then, I believe, we can plant the rest of the garden." I nodded because there were times when it was better that someone else determine my schedule. If left to me, I would've headed back to the comfort of our bed.  
  
Peeta made banana nut muffins, something I had eaten onboard the train during the Victor's tour. I managed to choke one down for his sake. At promptly, nine o'clock the phone rang and Peeta looked expectantly at me.  
  
I went to the study and closed the door and for two hours, I blubbered and cried while Dr. Aurelius likely slept on the other side of the line, but it felt good to get it out. Near the end of the allotted time, I stopped and waited expectantly for whatever he had to say.   
  
He sighed, long and deep. "Katniss, since I was not able to properly diagnose you while you were here, I've been reluctant to prescribe any meds for you, but it is very clear to me that something is needed to … even things out for you."  
  
"The morphling helped," I suggested.  
  
"Yes, it helped with the pain, but it is highly addictive and that's why we weaned you from it. Katniss, first of all, you must understand a few things. For centuries, we've been aware that soldiers suffer from something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder upon returning home. It causes, depression and anxiety, among other symptoms."  
  
"Does Peeta have it?" I wonder why it's just me.  
  
"Yes and no, Katniss. He does have symptoms but they are not as pronounced and he is able to control his through painting. It's a self-made remedy that he adopted after the first games when he painted the arena." In spite of being on the phone, I nod.  
  
"He's able to let out his frustration and anxiety on a canvas while you internalize everything. I think it's time we start conversing three times a week. I'm also going to prescribe two medicines and I will send them on the train today. I want you to start with a quarter tablet of each and after a week, increase to one-half. Don't take any more until we discuss how they are working. Don't stop taking them for any reason. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Katniss, you will get through this. Things will be better. Also remember that most people suffer from depression at some point in their lives, just not as severe or debilitating. I am thinking of starting you and Peeta on something called yoga as a means of clearing your heads and hopefully finding peace. Depression is nothing to be ashamed of, Katniss. It's actually a testament to your sense of survival that you are still even able to function."  
  
That evening, we worked on our book. Peeta worked diligently on a sketch of Cashmere and Gloss. He was quieter than usual, but he didn't pressure me as to why I couldn't leave our bed. As I tried to focus on what I might say about the brother/sister pair, I was distracted by the fact that Peeta had not spoken to me about what happened. After the shower, he had merely gone about regular business, ignoring the fact that he had found me curled into myself in the forest.  
  
"Peeta?"  
  
He glanced up briefly before issuing a low, "Hmmm?"  
  
"I … I want to talk about what happened." Dr. Aurelius had specifically asked me if I talked to Peeta about what happened and he seemed surprised to find out I had not. At that point, he had quietly suggested that partners take one another into their confidence, and it's all part of the "trust cycle" as he called it.  
  
"Oh, ummm," Peeta looked worried. "Are you sure? I don't want … you to get … uh … bad again." He seemed to be trying to choose his words carefully.  
  
I nodded. "Yes, Peeta." He stared at me for a long moment before nodding. So I told him everything. About the smell of the woods in the springtime and how my dad pointed out certain odors, and how I smelled the tree before seeing it and then when I saw it in full bloom, it reminded me so much of Prim and how I was powerless as the darkness swept over me. Part way through my explanation, Peeta moved to my side of the table and picked me up and cradled me on his lap.   
  
There were tears in his eyes when he responded. "I know what you mean, Katniss. About the smells, I mean. After … Coin … died, I spent a lot of time fretting about you and what would happen. Even though, I was still working through the after effects of the hijacking, I spent a lot of time thinking about you and how much I wanted to get back to the person I was to have another shot at winning your heart." He kissed the side of my forehead.  
  
"Anyway, in December, Dr. Aurelius suggested that I bake or paint to take my mind off you. Well, I wasn't ready to paint yet, so I baked. Except I didn't have recipes so I just got the ingredients together and let … some sort of inner baker take over." He smiled gently and I knew what he meant. Earlier he had mentioned that he no longer had written recipes but he just somehow remembered them.  
  
"So, I added flour, and salt and butter, and I wasn't even sure what I was making because it doesn't have a distinct odor until it bakes. Then the yeast, and I let it rise and then punched it down and let it rise again, and put it into tins and baked it. The scent wafted from the oven, and when I smelled it … well, I lost it. I tore my apartment to pieces. My neighbors called the Peacekeepers who called Dr. Aurelius. By the time he arrived, I was a sniveling wreck sitting in the corner of the kitchen."   
  
It was my turn to comfort him, and I pulled him close. A few minutes went by before he spoke again, "It was my father's favorite bread. Only … only, he told me when I was little that he had never tasted a piece of it fresh in his life. After we got back from the first games, it was one of the first things I did. I baked him a fresh loaf of his favorite. He had to hide it from Mom but everyday he got to eat his favorite bread fresh."  
  
I had never considered that Peeta was probably as close to his father as I was to mine. For me, losing my father was indescribable, because I lost the man who had loved me unconditionally. Yet, here was Peeta, my Peeta, who loved his dad like I loved mine.   
  
"Dr. Aurelius gave me a shot to calm me and then started me on daily medicine, which after a few months, he weaned me off. I still have an emergency pill to take just in case. I almost gave one to you yesterday, but I didn't think you would be ready to hear how I had them."  
  
"Peeta, sometimes I feel so broken, I wonder how you could love me. How can you consider a life with someone who is so broken?"  
  
"Katniss, I could ask you the same about me but really, I prefer not to think of it as broken so much as bent," he gave me the most winsome smile. "But honestly, Katniss, I feel like before we were together, there was a piece of me missing and you complete me. You're the missing puzzle piece and I know it won't be easy, but I'm better with you in my life than without." There he was, my Peeta, saying exactly what I felt.   
  
"I love you, Peeta Mellark. You complete me." He leaned in and gently kissed me.  
  
"You do realize, all we are missing is the toast," he teased, coaxing forth a real smile for the first time that day.   
  
That night, we slid between the sheets and Peeta kissed me goodnight, neither of us felt like making love, but as he pulled me into his body, I thought about his teasing words. Marriage was not something I had ever wanted or dreamed of … until now. I couldn't help the small smile that appeared when I realized that, if Peeta ever asks again, I would happily say yes.    
  
I felt his body relax against mine and knew he was nearly asleep. "Peeta," I whispered.  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"I'll be ready."  
  
"What for?" His voice was lazy and full of sleep.  
  
"When you're ready," I replied. "I mean, if you ever want to marry me, I'll be ready."   
  
"Mmmm. Okay." His voice was sleepy sounding and he rubbed my arm gently. It wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting but I settled myself closer to him and closed my eyes when suddenly his fingers stopped and I thought he had fallen asleep. But his voice broke the silence. "You'll marry me?" He sounded surprised. Incredulous even. Shocked. Maybe marriage was the furthest thing from his mind. He's only eighteen after all. I tried to squirm away, hoping to cover my embarrassment.  
  
Instead, Peeta pulled me closer, and the moonlight filtered through the curtains revealing a broad smile. "You mean it?" A smile tugged at my mouth as I nod. He kissed me deeply. "You have made me unbelievably happy Katniss. Right now, I love our life. I love the routine we have and getting to know each other. I love going to bed and waking up with you, and someday, I will want to marry you.  I'm so incredibly content and when we are both ready, we will get married."   
  
He kissed me again, and I felt the familiar stirrings and cuddled closer. "Meantime, though, I think we should get as much practice in as possible." That made me laugh, giggle even.   
  
While we spent considerable more time making out and indulging ourselves with touches, we didn't move beyond that and eventually, we both fell asleep.  
  
This morning, I awaken to find that Peeta is already out of bed and I'm a little disappointed with myself. When Prim and I shared a bed, the slightest movement used to cause me to jolt out of my sleep in alarm. But Peeta somehow manages to disentangle himself, dress and leave the room without disturbing me.  
  
I hurry from bed and grab a t-shirt that Peeta has folded neatly and placed on the couch. As I pull the door open, I can already smell breakfast wafting up the stairs, so I head toward the back stairway that will lead me directly to the kitchen.  
  
Peeta is standing by the stove mostly naked, wearing only a pair of rather form fitting boxers. He's humming while he works, which makes me smile. I walk toward him and slip my arms around his middle causing him to jump. "Sorry," I say, pressing my lips to his shoulder blade. He chuckles lightly.  
  
"I understand now why those poor squirrels never stand a chance. You're too darn quiet." That makes me laugh too.  
  
His words though remind me of Finnick's when he described his love for Annie. "Well, Mr. Mellark, you're pretty damn sneaky yourself, you know." Peeta turns to me with surprise. "You sneak out of bed in the morning without waking me, and," I hesitate for a moment trying to form the right words, "all this love I feel for you pretty much snuck up on me too. You snuck up on me, Peeta and took me completely unaware. I never did stand a chance."  
  
He turns in my arms and kisses me lightly before enveloping me in his arms and pulling me close. "Is that a bad thing?" He punctuates the question with a soft kiss.  
  
"No, not bad. I just wish you had not been so stealthy. Making me fall in love with you without even realizing it."  
  
He hoots loudly. "Yeah, the guy who declares to all of Panem that he's had a crush on you since he was five. That's stealthy all right."  
  
"Not that. It was everything else, you know. Your cheese buns. Your unwavering friendship even when you thought I had chosen Gale. Your help with the family book. The way your tongue slipped out of your mouth when you concentrated. The way you double knotted your shoelaces. The way you opened the window every night despite how cold it was. The way your arms felt around me when you would hold me at night. The way you would looked at me when you thought I didn't see you. Everything. You snuck up on me. I wasn't expecting it. Didn't even think I wanted it. But here it is and I want it more than I could ever imagine."  
  
His arms pull me closer. "Guess, I'm kind of a hunter after all. You're the only girl I ever wanted, and somehow, I managed to catch your heart." His voice is low and husky and I pull his head toward me for a kiss, which quickly deepens as our mouths work together.   
  
I sigh as his tongue slips between my lips and we struggle for dominance as our mutual desire escalates. He slides his hand down my back pushing our hips flush and I can feel the hard outline straining in his boxers. He pulls back just enough to whisper, "I love you."  
  
"I love you, too," I whisper back and our mouths meet once more. A moment later, he pulls back again and sighs deeply as he pulls a skillet of bacon off the stove top and sets it aside, a smile tugging at his lips as he looks around the kitchen.  
  
"What?" I say as I too glance around.  
  
"Your choice, table, counter or island." It dawns on me that he's giving me the option of where we will make love and I study each one carefully. We've already christened the furniture in the living room well. The study has also received its share, but the kitchen remains "virgin."   
  
"Table."  
  
"Good choice," he says as he lifts me slightly and carries me toward the table, moving the chair from one end, he pulls his t-shirt over my head and quickly bows his head to take a nipple in his mouth. I can't help the squeal that erupts from my mouth as he lavishes attention first on one then the other. First, he uses the flat of his tongue and then he uses just the tip, finally drawing it into his mouth where he lightly nibbles it before switching to the other.  
  
He runs his hand down my side, over my hip to the base of my thigh where he lifts to position my leg with the heel braced on the edge. I lay back with my elbows propped, watching his golden head as he works on my breasts. My nipples are beyond hard and ache slightly when he reaches his finger up to pinch the one his mouth is currently not working on. Even a few months ago, I never would have guessed that I would be so brazen to lie naked and open in front of anyone.  
  
But Peeta is not just anyone. The way he looks at me makes me feel confident, not vulnerable. I'm brought back to reality when I feel his fingers brush my soft folds before he works them inside, together we moan and he raises his head, a wicked grin gracing his features. "You like that?" I nod. "You want more?" I nod again. "Tell me. Tell me where you want my fingers and what you want me to do with them."  
  
For a half-beat, I almost hate him. Hate him for making me beg. But it's Peeta, and he deserves to hear me beg, I reason. "Please. More. I want more." My sentences are short and clipped. His smile is wide as he tentatively moves his fingers again. "Inside. I want them in me." I gasp as he pushes them into my folds.  
  
He looks like he wants to tease me more, so I reach out and grasp him through his boxers. "Are you going to tease me?" He hardens a bit more at my touch, and I can feel him pulse beneath my hand. He shakes his head "no" quickly, and then sets to work with abandon rubbing me and sucking on my breasts. I'm so close and I squirm under his ministrations. Finally, his fingers land on my sensitive little bundle of nerves, and he makes short work bringing me to orgasm.  
  
I'm still panting when he pushes his boxers down, not even bothering to pull them off, and plunges into me in one swift motion. My walls are still fluttering which causes Peeta to groan exquisitely as he settles in.   
  
Eventually, he sets a slow pace, pushing in and out steadily and I know he wants it to last but this morning, I'm in a fast and furious mood. I want to come again quickly. "Faster. Harder." I mumble and wonder if he catches my voice. Apparently, he does, because he speeds up, his hips setting a brutal pace.   
  
He reaches down and lightly pinches my clit before rubbing it aggressively in a tight little circle. "You have no idea, Katniss, how wonderful you feel, do you? It's soft and pillowy. Wet and wonderful, and all the while, you feel like a velvet vice. I never imagined that it would feel like this. Not something I ever could have replicated with my hand."  
  
"Fuck, Peeta!" I murmur. He's in a talkative mood today and his words impact me as I imagine him stroking himself.   
  
"Ohhh, dirty talking, Katniss. I like it. Do you want to hear some more? Do you want to hear how I think about you when you're not around, and get so hard that sometimes I have to take care of myself? Do you want to hear how the other night, I was drawing a picture of you that started out innocent, but I couldn't help myself and soon I was drawing one of you laid back with your nipples straining and your hand … ."  
  
"Peeta!" I cry out as the first wave of my second orgasm pushes through me. He stills and lets me convulse around him, pulling him deeper. It seems instinctual on his part when he stills to allow me to enjoy my orgasm. I don't think I would be able to stand it if he continued his assault while riding the crest. My stomach muscle move and I can feel myself gripping at his cock.  
  
"I'm close," he says, and starts to move again. It's a frantic pace, and coming so close on the heels of my orgasm, I know that I'm going to come again. He fumbles at my clit now, his coordinated movements gone. Suddenly, he freezes and calls my name, "Katniss."  
  
The pulsing as he spills his seed in me, sends me over the edge once more. "Peeta!" I scream again. We're both panting, and Peeta is lowering himself to kiss me.  
  
"What the fuck? On the table?" Haymitch's voice cuts through our passion and we look at him in alarm. "If you think I'll eat on that table again, you're mistaken." There's no mistaking the look on his face which is amusement laced with … jealousy? It's close to a leer.   
  
Peeta recovers almost immediately, and covers my body with his to prevent too much exposure, but I realize that Haymitch must have seen me and I blush. "Out," Peeta says, leaving no room for argument.  
  
Haymitch lifts his hands in mock surrender as his eyes meet mine. "Nothing, I've never seen before, Sweetheart. In fact, I've seen better."  
  
"OUT!" Peeta yells, but his desire to protect whatever modesty I have left means he's not likely to move to actually fulfill any threat he might make.  
  
"Okay. I'm leaving. I'm going to the porch. But I have something for you two, so I'm not going home just yet."  
  
As the door slams, Peeta pushes himself up and off me. Mortification is already setting in. The last person on earth I ever wanted to see me like this is Haymitch because, while he's my mentor, he's also taken on a fatherly/caretaker role with me in the past. I wouldn't want my father to see me this way, and I sure as hell didn't want Haymitch.  
  
Or maybe it was the look in his eye. The one that was difficult for me to decipher. I hurry upstairs and pull on some clothes. After we're dressed, Peeta takes me in his arms. "Sorry. I opened the door this morning for some fresh air, but he needs to learn to knock."  
  
"I'm not sure I would have heard him knock anyway." I didn't intend it as funny, but Peeta begins to chuckle quietly. Soon I join in, and a few seconds later, we are in full belly laugh mode, with tears streaming down our faces.  
  
As our laughter dies, "I'll see what he wants," Peeta says.  
  
"No, I'll go see if you finish breakfast." He pulls back to look and then leans in for a slight kiss.  
  
We walk downstairs hand in hand, and I make my way to the door, drawing in a deep breath before opening the screen door and stepping onto the porch. Haymitch is staring off in the distance.  
  
"Haymitch, you really need to knock," I start and he lets out a loud snort.   
  
"When I heard you scream out his name, I though he was having an episode. Didn't realize the boy was quite so talented."  
  
The last thing I want to discuss with him is Peeta's and my sex life, so I don't rise to the occasion.   
  
"Good for you, though. Good for him," and there's an unmistakable bitterness in his tone. We're quiet for several seconds before he continues. "It was easier before. It was easier when none of my kids survived. At first I tried to get to know them. I thought if I did it, won the games, they could do it too. But it hurt too damn bad," he pauses.  
  
"The first tribute of mine who died was a little merchant girl who had turned twelve the week she was reaped. I told her to run to the woods and hide but when the games started, she was frozen in fear and run through with a spear. The boy didn't fair too much better. Broke his neck when he toppled off a cliff," his voice takes on an emotion I never heard before from Haymitch.  
  
"Twenty-three years of dead tributes. After three, I quit caring. I was already drinking my way through my days, and I couldn't take much more. I couldn't let myself care about them. When the Capitol figured it out, they assigned an escort to help but they were no help. Not until Effie. For all her … Capitol charm, she really cared for the kids. Sixteen years of kids that she fussed over and then mourned."   
  
I'm not sure I want to hear this, but Haymitch has so rarely talked about his mentoring days with us that I don't have the heart to stop him.  
  
"Then comes you and golden boy in there. I can't remember the reaping." Not surprising considering he probably had a concussion. "Hell, from the moment that you nearly stuck me with a knife, I knew you were different. You were a survivor, and I felt this little niggling sprout inside me. Caring. The boy too, was different. Never met anyone who was so hell bent on someone else's survival. He made me promise to choose you."  
  
I'm surprised to finally have disclosure of what I had suspected for a long time. Peeta was going to sacrifice himself for me even during our first games.  
  
"When you pulled the berries, I knew you were as crazy as the boy. I tried to talk myself out of caring. I tried to tell myself that your fate didn't matter. But it did. You two were the kids I would never have myself. I tried to distance myself but I already cared too damn much."  
  
He stops again, "But I'm jealous." He sees the look on my face and immediately blanches. "No. No. Not that way. I was young too, you know. After the games I was the same age as the two of you and I foolishly thought I could come home and pick up where I left off. When I look at Peeta, it's like seeing myself twenty-five years ago."  
  
Haymitch gets up and moves to the railing. "The way he looks at you. The way he wears his heart on his sleeve. I never thought you'd love him back though." He shakes his head. "Like Peeta, my girl was the only one for me. So when I won the games, it was so clear. I was going to marry her and we would live with Ma and Ben in that big house." The houses are big … and can be lonely.  
  
"Snow didn't kill them right away. He let me taste having them back again. I bought a Capitol ring before I came back and first night home, asked her to marry me. The camera crews stayed for two weeks and I was lulled into this sense of peace. Coraline Edwards." I jar at the name, and turn to search his face. "She was my girl. We … had never done more than kiss before but once we were engaged, we kind of threw caution to the wind and began experimenting."  
  
His eyes are far off now. "My Ma died first. 'Tragic accident.' I found her at the bottom of the basement stairs, her neck broke. I figured she lost her balance on the stairway. Didn't occur to me that it was Snow. He sent condolences. I knew that Cora and I could care for Ben. A day later, Ben disappeared and we found a hole in the fence where wild dogs supposedly came through and dragged him off."  
  
Haymitch sighs, "I was devastated and naive. I figured it was two accidents. We planned the funerals, and that night, while holding Cora close, we finally crossed the line. It was better than anything I could have dreamed. After, I went outside for a little walk to clear my mind, and when I came back … ." He roughly rubs his face, and I realize he's been crying. "When I came back, she was dead in our bed. Poisoned. Made it look like she took her own life. But Snow left a note. 'Haymitch Abernathy, this serves as a warning should you ever attempt to defy the Capitol again.'"  
  
I walk to him and put my arms around him. "He broke me that night. I've never slept in that bed again. The next day, I found Ripper and went on my first ever bender. I missed the funeral because I was drunk. I stayed mostly drunk over the years. The sober days have been hit and miss, and my longest bouts of sobriety were during Peeta's training and in District 13. The doctors call me a 'functional drunk.'"  
  
I squeeze his shoulder a bit. "I resolved never to love. Snow tried to make me a prostitute but I couldn't service another woman after Cora, and I didn't have the look to appeal to men, so instead I became 'the example.' He made sure every victor knew what could happen if you stepped out of line." The bitterness in his voice is palpable.  
  
"Then you two came along. You burrowed your way in, and I began to care again. By the time you pulled the berries, I knew Snow would try to find a way to get rid of you. But somehow you survived, and I found myself caring more and more for both of you. Peeta's like a son to me, and you're like a daughter. I'm happy for you two, Sweetheart, and I'm glad you have each other. There's no one better for you than him."  
  
I remember his words from so long ago, that I could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve Peeta. Haymitch must sense what I'm thinking, "I was wrong. I shouldn't have said it, but I figured you would end up with Gale out of spite, and I didn't want Peeta hurt." Haymitch abruptly switches gears. "The revolution needed to happen," he says by way of explanation.  "I figured you would keep your distance if I said that but you didn't. It was some kind of fucked up psychology that backfired. If I had kept my mouth shut, you might have been able to figure things out sooner. Your feelings."  
  
I have the feeling that I was little more than a piece in his games as well. Real feelings toward Peeta would have likely derailed the revolution. Reinforcing my already low opinion of myself and elevating Peeta to a pedestal ensured that I would opt for Gale instead — or should have ensured that outcome. Someone on my level. Someone who is no better or worse than myself. Anger is swiftly boiling inside me and Haymitch senses it.  
  
"Relax, Sweetheart, it was for the greater good. The force behind the revolution was bigger than me. Than you. Hell, Sweetheart, the revolution was bigger than all the victors combined. There was one hope, and you were it. I had to make choices I'm not proud of. I love that boy in there like my son, and hell, you think I didn't want to save him? Save you both? For damn near twenty-five years I paid penance for my Cora, Ben and Ma, and forty-six tributes who died because I couldn't save them. I'll spend the rest of my life paying penance for what happened to you and Peeta. Every moment I'm sober, I wonder if I could've gotten Peeta out. I wonder how it would have been different. …"  
  
The conversation has taken me back to a place I don't want to be. I, too, second guess the decisions I made, the results of my own actions. I battle the guilt and remorse, and I know someday I will have to find it in my heart to forgive Haymitch, just maybe not today.  
  
"I uh, I'm sorry about that in there," he says, not meeting my eyes. "I'm not some kind of old pervert. I shouldn't have said anything and just walked out when I first realized. But you know me. Open mouth, insert foot."  
  
I snort at his comment but choose to remain silent. "That's a big difference between us, Sweetheart. You are quiet as a church mouse, and me, I'm a bumbling idiot. Um … Think the boy is dressed?" I nod. "I've got some deliveries for you." For the first time, I notice the envelopes he holds in his hand as we walk back inside.  
  
Peeta glances up, almost finished with breakfast preparations. "Sorry about earlier, Boy." Peeta nods.  
  
"Breakfast is ready." Peeta gestures to the table, where the lone cup of coffee serves as an indicator to Haymitch's spot — nearly dead center of this morning's escapade. Peeta's lips twitch at the look on his face. I quickly take the spot at the other end, which means that if Haymitch were to move, he would be sitting between us. He doesn't like sitting between us because he feels like we talk around him.  
  
"Hope you used bleach on it," Haymitch grumbles as he sits down.  
  
I walk to the stove to pick up the plate of pancakes and raise my eyebrow at Peeta, who shakes his head slightly, a grin overtaking his face. Peeta's payback. It makes me giggle as he bends to whisper, "I didn't even wipe it off. It's our house."   
  
We set the food in front of him and any misgivings he has about cleanliness is out the window as he stabs into the fluffy cakes and piles the bacon high. He stuffs his mouth and the envelopes are momentarily forgotten.  
  
Haymitch is enjoying his second cup of coffee when I bring up the envelopes. "Right, nearly forgot. Some kid in a messenger suit hammered on my door this morning and asked me to sign for these. I think he might have stopped here first … ." Haymitch trails off and both Peeta and I blush. He might have and we were too preoccupied to notice.  
  
He reads each envelope and passes them out like playing cards. Peeta receives four gray, a white and a tan. I receive two gray and a tan. The envelopes are light and I guess they bare only a single sheet of paper; yet, heaviness overtakes me as I note the new Official Seal of Panem in the corner.  
  



	15. Blood Money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings are the property of Suzanne Collins. Thanks for reading!

I glance around the table nervously. The mood has turned serious and a sense of dread has overtaken us. Letters from the Capitol rarely arrive in District 12. Of course now, the government has changed but still.  
  
Peeta has by far the most envelopes, then me, then Haymitch, who drew two gray envelopes from his pocket. Peeta's eyes meet mine, and then he looks back to his envelopes and picks up a gray one.  
  
"I'll go first," he says simply. He tears open the top and pulls out the paper, and quickly scans it before reading.  
  
"It's from the Department of Human Resources. 'Dear Mr. Mellark. Our condolences in the loss of your father, Augustus James Mellark. Our government recognizes the role of the previous government in the death of your father and as such, has deposited the sum of 500,000 gold coin in your account in the Capitol. While this sum hardly makes up for the loss of life, we are hopeful that it will be used in your efforts to rebuild your life."  
  
He quickly tears open the remaining three gray envelopes, and finds sums of 250,000 coin for his brothers Rusk and Thatch, and an additional 500,000 coin for his mother. It's odd that they valued his parents' lives greater than those of his brothers.  
  
Peeta turns to me expectantly and my hand shakes. Obviously, one of my envelopes is about Prim, but why two. I tear open the first. "Dear Miss Everdeen. Our condolences in the loss of your sister, Primrose Mae Everdeen, as the result of a deliberate and unnecessary assault by the Rebels." I look to Peeta. Apparently, they already know what happened to Prim, and it was a rebel bomb. "Because she died in the war effort, a sum of 500,000 gold coin was set aside for her surviving heirs. As one of two surviving heirs, 250,000 coin has been deposited in your account in the Capitol. While this sum hardly makes up for the loss of life, we are hopeful that it will be used in your efforts to rebuild your life."  
  
There's a certain irony about the situation. Peeta and I already have outrageous sums of money that will likely never be used in our lifetime, and now we've added more.  
  
"Open the other one, Sweetheart. "  
  
I pull open the flap and take out the paper, and begin reading. "Dear Miss Everdeen. Following an internal audit, it has come to our attention that the former government retained insurance policies for citizens employed in the mining operations of District 12; however, few if any of the policies were paid to surviving family members following accidents. Because your father, James Everett Everdeen, worked in one of the most dangerous sections of the mine, the policy retained was in the amount of one million gold coin.  As one of two surviving heirs, 500,000 coins has been deposited in your account in the Capitol. We regret the inconvenience. Thank you."  
  
Inconvenience? A million coin in a district like 12 would have made a world of difference to us when my father died. We could have fixed the perpetually leaking ceiling, the walls that barely stopped the wind in the winter, the plumbing that rarely worked. We could have had food on the table. But then again, how different my life would have been. I likely would not have been forced to try to sell Prim's baby clothes and subsequently, never would have gotten the bread for Peeta which taught me to hope again.  
  
I likely would not have had to hunt. I never would have come to know Gale. Prim would likely still have been reaped and I would still have volunteered. Without the practical skills that hunting taught me, I more than likely would have perished during the Hunger Games. There would not have been a rebellion, and … ."  
  
"Katniss, stop," Peeta's voice is soft. "Don't over think this."  
  
Haymitch quickly opens his envelopes as a distraction. Again, the government took accountability for the actions of Snow's government. and he was given 750,000 coin total.  
  
Peeta opens the tan envelope and discovers a settlement for the Mellark residence of 250,000 coin. As one of two survivors, I receive half the amount. Finally, he opens the last envelope and finds another 500,000 coin for the loss of the bakery.  
  
He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging gently. I know what he's thinking, our losses have been tallied by the government and financially settled. Bureaucratically speaking, It's as if the money makes up for our loss.  
  
"Peeta?" He looks up and his eyes are red-rimmed from holding back the ears.  
  
"I need to get out of here." He stands abruptly and heads to the door, and I assume he wants to be alone. But when he reaches the door, he turns back to me and holds out his hand.  
  
We walk in silence, a path that takes us through the ashes of our tiny village that is slowly being rebuilt, and to the outskirts. We're headed to the woods, or so I think. Instead, we veer to the right and head to the meadow, or what remains of it. The meadow which was once the most beautiful spot within District 12 is little more than a vast scar. A reminder of everything that is lost.  
  
Peeta drops to the ground and crosses his legs like we used to do in kindergarten, He braces his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands as sobs wrack his body.  
  
I sit next to him and put my arm around his shoulders and draw him close. It's heart wrenching to listen to his sobs. I've had seven years to deal with my father's death, but it doesn't get any easier. If I let myself dwell on him too long, the grief is almost unbearable. Peeta hasn't really mourned his family in front of me. He's been too focussed on staying strong for me.  
  
Time passes. It could be an hour, or maybe two and eventually his sobs cease but he continues to hiccup like a small child who has cried too hard. He slumps into me and I bring my other arm around him so I'm holding him close.  
  
"Tell me about them, Peeta. Tell me about your family."  
  
Peeta pulls in a ragged breath, followed by a series of dry sobs. He searches for words, or maybe memories, and I at once feel guilty as I realize that he might not be able to remember much.  
  
But then he begins, speaking slowly, his words precise and gaining confidence. "My dad was quiet when my mom was around but when we were alone together, he was a different person. He would tell me stories about growing up and his father and his father's father. He would tell these … outrageous stories."  
  
For several minutes he tells stories of his father mixing up salt and sugar, and putting too much flour in the bread and the year his father had to supplement with sawdust in the bread. He remembered the very first recipe his dad taught him before he could even read. He remembered that his dad started teaching him how to decorate cakes when he was eight. It's like a floodgate, and I realize that he thought some of these memories were lost forever.  
  
He moves on to Thatch and talks about how he used to intervene with his mother on behalf of his two younger siblings. "There was this one time, I was maybe three or four, and I spilled a bag of flour. Flour was like the lifeblood of the bakery. Mom came over to me and … ," he closes his eyes as he remembers. "… She raised her hand and Thatch came forward and stood in front of me. She never struck him."  
  
He's quiet for a long while and then he says, "My dad told me once that Mom's beau died in the Hunger Games, the 53rd. He was eighteen and his dad was the cobbler. Everyone thought he and your mom were going to get married, but then your mom got interested in your dad, and my dad rebounded with my mom."  
  
Peeta slumps into me and brings his arms around me. "Dad knew about my crush and after we got home he was really excited. He said that maybe I would have a shot at happiness. Before the Quell, I went to him and told him that it was all pretend on your part but that I had decided to protect you as long as I could and then die so that you and Gale could be happy."  
  
His words cut me to the core. My feelings were more real than I was ready to admit at the time. My decision to be with Gale was based solely on the fact that he was whipped for something I did. Misplaced loyalty. Even if Peeta and I had never been reaped for the Quarter Quell. Even if there had been no rebellion. Even if I had never been the Mockingjay. Even if Prim lived. Peeta and I likely have found each other.  
  
"But my father told me, 'She cares for you son, more than you'll ever know. I've seen it with my own eyes. Her mother looked at her father the same way,' Well, I wasn't convinced. I couldn't let myself get sucked in. I had a mission, and that was to protect you."  
  
"Peeta, I wish I had figured it all out then, but to me back then, romantic love had no place in my life, or at least I thought so."  
  
"And now?" Peeta questioned.  
  
"I love you. It's as necessary to me as breathing air or drinking water. Always remember that."  
  
He grins at me that same heart melting, crooked grin. "I'm going to hold you to that, Miss Everdeen."  
  
"Peeta, has your … memory returned?"  
  
"Ummm, a lot of it, I guess. I really never know. After we started talking about different memories, it was like a door was unlocked. Dr. Aurelius said it's like … during the torture, I pushed them to a far corner of my brain and locked them away so they couldn't be touched. Only you were able to fully open that place and let them out. Delly tried and got bits and pieces. Dr. Aurelius tried and would get snippets, but I've always had better recall with you."  
  
"I'm glad," and I squeeze him tighter.  
  
"Only sometimes, I don't know what's real and not real with my memories of you." He strokes my arm lightly.  
  
"Just ask. You know the routine."  
  
"You won't get mad?" He sits up and looks at me earnestly. I shake my head and he continues, "I might have to tell you somethings that bother you." I nod slightly, a bit of nervousness boiling inside me. He inhales deeply and looks me in the eyes. "I have some memories of us on the train during the tour." I nod for him to continue. "Most of the time, I'm holding you but then others … we're fucking and you are telling me I'm not … as good as Gale."  
  
I huff out a breath, disgusted that they turned the needs of comfort into something disgusting. How did they know we slept on the train together? "Peeta, we never had sex on the train. I've only ever had sex with you. Remember the blood the first time and how you felt so bad but then I saw you smiling?"  
  
The same smile appears as if from that night. A little bit of pride perhaps? "I remember. I felt … happy that I was the one to … you know, and happy that you were my first and only."  
  
"That's right, Peeta, you're still my only. Gale and I never had that kind of relationship that made me want more. Not like you. Not that all consuming hunger that starts when we kiss."  
  
Peeta grins at me, "When we discuss these memories, it helps because the images disappear. They were really good at creating … mirages. They would show me video of you and Gale together writhing on the bed naked and saying things about me."  
  
"Not real," I say quickly, not waiting for him to ask.  
  
"Or laughing about what a fool I was and how you two could use me to spark a revolution but then let the Capitol have me to do what they wanted to me."  
  
"Not real, Peeta. Not real. The only emotions Gale felt about you were jealousy and anger because he could sense my bond with you regardless of whether we were together. I wasn't the same person after the Games, even though I tried to be. I wanted desperately to be the girl who hunted and cared for her family but the money made survival easier. Hunting was not necessary for Prim and Mom, so I hunted for Hazelle and the kids. I needed a sense of worth. I wanted Gale to be my best friend who still laughed in the face of the Capitol."  
  
I pull a few blades of new grass that are poking through the topsoil. "All I wanted Peeta, was for things to be the same. But I never slept an entire night through. I would wake up screaming from the nightmares. I wanted so badly to talk to you but I didn't think you wanted to talk to me. Not after … I broke your heart."  
  
His smile is sad as he whispers, "I would have wanted you no matter what."  
  
"Once we became … friends again, everything was better. It was such a relief and when we would sleep together, there was such comfort. I slept on the train despite all the troubles around me because of you." He pulls me closer and kisses my cheek.  
  
"Everyday we're together, I feel like more pieces of the puzzle are coming together. I'm so happy to have you in my life, Katniss. Do you mind if I ask a few more questions?"  
  
"No, Peeta, ask whatever you need to."  
  
"When we were in the arena, what exactly happened in in those last minutes?"  
  
I exhale slowly, not really wanting to relive it but remind myself that Peeta needs this. "What do you remember?"  
  
He looks away and then vigorously shakes his head. It's then that I realize they must have altered the last few minutes we were together.  
  
"Uhh, well we had spent part of that last day moving to stay ahead of the clock." Peeta nods. "We ate a huge meal and Beetee worked out his plan. We had to get back to the tree before midnight. Once we had made our way to that point, Beetee wrapped the wire around the trunk and said the other end had to be in the water to … take out the careers."  
  
"Who was left besides the five of us?"  
  
"Enobaria, Brutus and Chaff." He purses his lips and nods again. "It was decided that Jo and I would take the wire to the water. Neither you or I were happy about separating, but I thought it would be only for a few minutes and then we would reunite and leave Finn, Jo and Beetee to be on our own. Jo and I were making our way through the jungle and all of a sudden the wire went slack and we knew someone cut it. Jo knocked me down and cut my tracker out, then smeared blood on my face."  
  
Peeta shudders, even though he knows why the tracker had to go. "As soon as I got my bearings, I went searching for you. I started calling your name."  
  
"To draw the careers to you?"  
  
"Yes," I say as I nod. Tears form in his eyes, and I reach to brush them away.  
  
"Katniss, if Enoboria would have located you, I would have … died." He stops and for several minutes we're each lost in our own thoughts then, "Brutus killed Chaff. I killed Brutus."  
  
I nod again. "Finn and Enoboria were close by, not far from the lightning tree, and I thought Beetee was dead, so I figured that I had gotten you as close to the end as I could. I had planned to shoot Enoboria and then let the lightning take out Finn and me, but then I remembered Haymitch's words to 'remember who the real enemy was,' and that's when I turned my arrow toward the forcefield."  
  
I can see the realization on his face as he processes the information. "I was always confused about that. I remember thinking there's no way you knew about the rebellion, but shooting the forcefield made it seem like you did it because the time had come to start the rebellion."  
  
"You were right, Peeta, I didn't know. They didn't trust either of us with the information. Coin wanted to save you and Plutarch wanted me. I still don't understand why they didn't want us both."  
  
"Knowing what I know now, I think control was always key. How much control would they have over us if we were both rescued?"  
  
"We're stronger together," I whisper as I realize how true it is what Peeta just said. Together, we would have seen through Coin quickly. "I always had these nagging doubts and I thought it was just a personality issue and Gale was too taken by the rebellion to notice. I was distracted without you there and couldn't really focus."  
  
Peeta nods in understanding.  "Katniss, remember the day I joined Squad 451?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That morning, Coin brought me into the room and spent an hour talking to me. 'Dear boy, you were my choice. If I would have had my way, they would have brought you out of the damned arena, not some scarred boy crazy girl.' I was still skating on the edge of reality at that point so when she told me about how you demanded freedom to move about the surface with Gale," he inhales sharply before raising his voice an octave. 'Heaven only knows what they do up there but they often come back disheveled, looking like they've been rolling on the forest floor.' My imagination just took it and ran with it like she knew it would. I remember clearly feeling like I wanted to … kill you."  
  
We're clinging to each other as tears stream down out cheeks and snot runs from our noses, but neither of us wants to let go. I never realized that Coin took advantage of Peeta's torture and turned the knife of betrayal he felt sticking out of his back.  
  
"When you went off to the Capitol, I was actually relieved that I would not have to kill you. I thought you would die in the Capitol. I hated my conflicting feelings Katniss, not knowing what was real or not real. Then when she called me in to say I would be moving to the Capitol, she said, 'Do whatever you think is best, Peeta, in regard to Katniss.' I knew I had her permission to kill you and I never questioned it. My muddled mind thought that she was giving me the freedom to do so because she understood."  
  
We've never discussed all this before, partly because I was too afraid to dredge it up in case it brought on an episode.  But I realize now my suspicions were dead on when it came to Coin.  
  
"The day I arrived I saw this look on your face of pure hatred."  
  
I pull back in horror. Hatred? I didn't hate him. "Peeta, I … ."  
  
"No Katniss, it's okay. I understand emotions much better since all this happen. Love and hate exist on the same plane, on the same level. They are not opposite one another but rather 'kissing cousins' if you will, borne of the same deep-seated emotions. The true opposite of love is indifference. Dr. Aurelius explained that was how they changed my emotions toward you from love to hate. They could never take my love away and make me indifferent but they could alter it to hate. When you saw me that day, you hated me. Maybe because you thought I no longer loved you or maybe it was the realization of what I was there to do, but it heightened my resolve."  
  
"Peeta, I don't know what to say. I should have been loving you and trying to get you back … ."  
  
"Stop, Katniss! It wasn't safe for you to be around me. When we started playing 'real or not real,' I wasn't sure I could trust you, but little by little, you chipped away at the edge of hatred. That day in the street when I tried to kill you and … succeeded in killing Mitchell, was a turning point. I finally saw myself for what I was … a monster."  
  
"Peeta, you stop," I beg. "You weren't a monster. You couldn't help it. I should have tried harder to reach you but I was angry. Angry with Snow for doing that to you and angry at you for … ."  
  
"Allowing it to happen," his voice is barely a whisper, and I shake my head but he stops me. "I blamed myself too, for a long time. Most of last fall, I kept thinking I should have been stronger. I should have fought it."  
  
"No, Peeta, it wasn't your fault."  
  
"It wasn't your's either, Katniss." He leans in and kisses me. "Remember when we promised each other we would quit blaming ourselves for the actions of others. We've got enough of our own to … well, own."  
  
We settle into one another, staring at the meadow. It's been another emotional day but yet I'm happy that nothing that happened triggered an episode. Small steps. Finally, Peeta speaks, "I want to send the money back. It's blood money, Katniss. Guilt money."  
  
I rub his shoulders and then move in front of him, draping my legs over his thighs so that we are face to face. "They won't take it back, Peeta. You know that."  
  
He rubs his head in frustration and then moves his hand roughly across his face. "I just … I don't need it. It kind of sullies their memory, you know?"  
  
Peeta always thinks much deeper then me and I understand at once what he is saying. "Maybe we can use it for something else?"  
  
He nods slowly. "A memorial maybe? A museum? That's it, Katniss, I'll put my money toward a museum, maybe I will use some on the bakery, but most into a museum. A place where we remember those who died in the mines, the Hunger Games and the Rebellion. They should not be forgotten."  
  
It's settled just like that, and Peeta's level of excitement is contagious. I want to give the money I received toward it as well. We decide that the building should be here, close to the meadow and the meadow should become a park in memory of all those who died. The new factory is going to be built  on the other side of town, and we feel that this place needs to be a sanctuary.  
  
"Come on," he stands and holds out his hand.  
  
I rise and take it, "Where are we going?"  
  
"Into town. We have to run all this by Thom." Peeta's in a hurry now, and sets a brisk pace. It's clear that something big has happened when we reach the re-building area. Thom is in the midst of a group of people that includes his friends, Greasy Sae, and about a hundred others. He hails us, "Peeta, Katniss, come here."  
  
We approach the throng that parts to let us through and notice that most everyone holds letters in their hands. "We got some letters today," Thom explains, but Peeta pulls his from his pocket temporarily silencing him. "Well, none of us have 'Capitol bank accounts' but the letters say that's where our money is. What do you think of that?"  
  
Peeta is definitely the most worldly of the group, and everyone is silent as he speaks. "Well, I'm sure they set up something and the paperwork should arrive shortly. You will be able to draw out of the account and right now the coins are sent by train and you have to sign for them." Everyone nods in understanding.  
  
"We also got this letter and they sent it to me as the acting mayor." Thom looks worried as he hands the paper to Peeta and I to read. The letter states that District 12 will be the recipient of all "unclaimed funds" that, at present total 450 million coins and is expected to grow as they vet the existing documentation. As soon as he reads it, Peeta's brow furrows. We knew that rebuilding would not be an easy process without funds but now it may have become more complicated.  
  
"Thom, would you like to stop by sometime," Peeta says casually, not wanting to speak to him in front of the crowd. "We need to begin looking at our town and making some decisions. We need to begin formally planning what will be on each block, and set up a system with letters of intent." Thom nods brusquely.  
  
"You two be home later?" Peeta and I nod. "I can come this afternoon."  
  
"How about lunch, bring Sae and whoever else. We'll have plenty of food. Around one?" Thom smiles and nods as we head back home. A few short hours has changed everything.  
  
On the way back home, Peeta plans the menu which includes meat pies and plain white cake with topping. He decides to invite Haymitch and I head home to cut up squirrel for the pies. After awhile, the door bangs shut and I hear Peeta's hurried steps.  
  
"Haymitch is in. He sat down and started writing all the names of the children he mentored. He's got boxes in his basement of their personal effects." My eyebrow raises and Peeta nods curtly. "He didn't come right out and say it, but I think he needed to keep them himself out of guilt that he could not save them." My heart lurches inside my chest. Twenty-two years of ghosts lie in those boxes in his basement. No wonder he doesn't sleep at night.  
  
Peeta's excitement is palpable. "We need to do this, Katniss. We can't forget the past. We can't forget those who died senselessly at the hands of the government or it could happen again. Complacency is an enemy." My heart beats faster at his words. Peeta is so good with words.  
  
The rest of the morning speeds by and at one, there's a soft knock at the door. Thom and a half dozen others are at the door, Sae amongst them. Haymitch brings up the rear. We settle around the dining room table, and for some time, all that is heard are groans of pleasure and the clinking of cutlery.  
  
Finally, Thom speaks. "Peeta, I've gotten some materials from the Capitol about the way governments used to work and it seems to me that we have to set up a council and appoint some people to make sure everything is done proper. You actually fit a lot of different areas but I was wondering if you would be a city planner. You know figure out where blocks need to be and I think we need phone lines, electrical of course, and sewer. We need to make sure we get what we need, where we need it."  
  
Sae nods in agreement, and I can't help but smile. Not so long ago, placing her fate in the hands of someone so obviously merchant in appearance, would have caused her to curse in a most unladylike fashion.  
  
"Katniss," my head turns quickly as Thom addresses me. "We would like you on the council." I start to object but he holds his hand up silencing me. "We need people that everyone knows and respects. But even more, we needs someone who cares about what's best for District 12." I consider his words and wonder whether I'm the right choice, but my eyes lock on Haymitch and I see the quirk of his lips and the slight nod of reassurance. I find myself nodding in agreement, and feel the pressure of Peeta's hand as he squeezes tightly.  
  
The excitement cannot be denied. Peeta reviews the idea of the memorial and museum which meets with hearty approval. He then moves on to his ideas about planning the district. One block at a time, starting at the center. Everyone agrees the bakery should be the center, but Peeta suggests a park instead, covering the area where the old Justice building sat.  
  
Around the park would be all kinds of shops with the Hob prominently featured. Sae struggles to hide her emotions.  
  
"Be proud if we're accepted into the main," she says with difficulty.  
  
More planning, more debate. Things are coming into place, and Peeta begins to sketch. Tomorrow he will send for large drawing paper, and begin the requisition process to bring in the heavy equipment needed. In the meantime, he's decided to ask Hazelle if she would like to help with the bakery he's been planning on setting up in his old house.  
  
As evening approaches, I slip away to find something for supper. Not as delicious as Peeta's pie, my hearty stew is met with approval anyway. The plans go far into the evening. The next days are going to be busy ones. As Thom departs, he places the letter for the unclaimed funds in Peeta's hand. "I trust you to make the right decisions with this money." He slaps Peeta's back.  
  
In spite of the lateness, neither of us are tired, and he brings out our book. For so many nights it consumed all of our time, but lately the work on it has slowed, and we are nearing the end. We sit on the couch and Peeta pages through it as we look at the faces. They are in no particular order, Madge rests between Finnick and Mitchell from 13. Boggs is next to Peeta's father.  
  
He comes to our page, together. The one that Haymitch suggested and he stops. He traces the line of the Mockingjay costume, and then turns to me. "Are you okay with the role we are going to play in rebuilding the district?"  
  
I think for a moment. If I had my way a few months ago, I would have withered away in front of my fireplace but then Peeta came home and hope re-entered my life. Still, I'm not one for the spotlight and if I had my way, Peeta and I would live quietly. Me hunting and him baking.  Still there are so few us left that I do feel a responsibility to help out.  
  
Finally, "I'm okay with it, but everything is short term for me. As soon as the district is on track, someone else can take my place."  
  
Peeta nods in understanding. "Me too. I think I will train someone to take my place because really, once the bakery is up and running, that will consume a lot of my free time."  
  
I'm relieved that even though he's excited about helping out now, his goal remains to be a baker.  
  
We head upstairs and burrow under the covers. We are emotionally spent from the day. Peeta pulls me close and kisses me lightly as we settle in. I try to push all thoughts from me before sleep but sleep eludes me and my mind wanders through the events of the day.  
  
Just before sleep claims me, I think, "I'm Katniss Everdeen. I'm eighteen years old. I live in District 12 with Peeta Mellark, whom I love more than my own life. He bakes. I hunt. Life is good again. We are rebuilding our town — together."


	16. Peeta's Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests, this chapter includes descriptions of some of the torture that Peeta endured while in the Capitol. It touches on Johanna's, Darius's and Lavinia's stories as well. It's fairly graphic, so please don't read it if you are affected by such things.
> 
> Hunger Games characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback.

Peeta and I are learning more and more about each other with each passing week. The good. The bad. The ugly. The indifferent. We learn it all and we have learned to love it all.  
  
I have learned that while he is inherently neat in most areas, the kitchen can look like a disaster zone when he's in his baking zone. Flour and sugar might be scattered everywhere, and I have learned that my favorite place is the smudge on the tip of his nose. Whether he realizes it or not, the smudge makes him adorable.  
  
Because of this messiness, I find myself cleaning right behind him. He doesn't seem to mind, and sometimes I wonder whether I do it just to be closer to him or because I find that order makes my life less complicated.  
  
Peeta has learned that, in spite of the fact that I'm an intensely private person most of the time, he is the exception to every rule I have. Since we became intimate, there is no instance when I withdraw from him. I have, in more ways than one, laid myself bare to him. That can sometimes be ugly, but he in turn, loves me for it. He knows me more completely than anyone ever has, and he is aware of that fact, and it makes him happy.  
  
Peeta no longer holds me on a pedestal which is good because falls from pedestals can be dangerous. Our sessions with Dr. Aurelius have expanded to include each other. Not so long ago, I didn't want anyone hearing what I had to discuss with Dr. Aurelius, but now it seems natural to talk about my trials — our trials — with Peeta present.  
  
So, three times each week, we settle into our study and speak to Dr. Aurelius. Sometimes the focus is my nightmares. Other times the focus is Peeta's flashbacks which fortunately have been reduced mostly to instances of Peeta gripping the back of the chair to remain grounded.  
  
We have learned that we each have triggers. Our senses seem to be the greatest triggers. For Peeta, his sense of sight and smell are the biggest potential triggers. For me, it could be any of the senses including touch. Last week, I happened to pick up a jacket that had fallen off the hook. It was red and shiny, but felt like our arena jackets from the first games. That night, Cato chased us through the woods with my arrow sticking from his head, yelling that he was supposed to be the winner. Peeta's strong arms pulled me from my sleep and held my trembling form for hours.  
  
There are also certain conditions like tiredness which cause us to react in total opposite ways. For me, extreme tiredness affects my brain and causes the nightmares to disappear. For that reason, I've taken to exhausting myself during the day, to the point where I nearly drop into bed at night. For Peeta, extreme tiredness can result in a flashback.  
  
Dr. Aurelius is a bit puzzled by the fact that the sound of my voice, touch of my skin, and sight of my face, doesn't trigger a flashback anymore. Peeta has seemingly analyzed it in depth and believes that his subconscious is now aware enough that when I'm around, I can keep a potential flashback mostly at bay just by speaking quietly to him.  
  
We knew all this in theory mostly because Peeta had not had a serious flashback since before we started sleeping together. Until yesterday … .  
  
The past month has been extremely busy with Peeta sketching whole blocks with buildings, parks, residences, etc. After his sketches meet the approval of the newly formed council, he sends them to the Capitol for 3D rendering. Everything is quickly returned in miniature versions — scale models of his drawings. Peeta looks them over carefully and accepts or rejects them prior to showing them to the council.  
  
If even a small detail has a Capitol look about it, he rejects it and destroys it before anyone can see it. These renderings are so important because after they are approved, the details are fed into a fabricator which then begins spitting out perfectly formed walls, rafters, etc. to construct each of the buildings. For this reason, District 12 is quickly being rebuilt. It takes the machine and the manpower less than a week to create one square block of our district.  
  
The first block to be completed was three weeks ago, and included twenty houses that were mostly identical to one another. Applications for the new housing flooded in and Peeta realized that we would need to step up production, so two additional fabricators joined the first and a thousand workers arrived from other districts (mostly seven) to work on rebuilding.  
  
Because of the added fabricators and workers, we now have three residential blocks in place and four full blocks of merchant buildings, among them the new Hob, judicial center and bakery. Peeta's been much too busy to focus on the bakery yet though, but people are getting anxious. So Peeta has been pushing himself. Three days ago, he ordered the new ovens which will be electric this time around.  
  
He was so excited. He showed me the pictures of what the inside will look like and I know that he will be glad to return to baking after his work on the district planning is complete.  
  
As for me, hunting has taken a backseat to our city square and the memorial park. The square is dead center over the previous reaping square, and takes up the entire property that was once the Justice building as well. It surprised me at how quickly things can take shape.  
  
Earth movers were onsite three days after requesting them. They worked to remove remnants of the old building. There was a certain irony that the whipping post where Gale had been flogged a little more than a year ago, remained untouched by the bombing. But it took only a second for the machine to rip it from the earth and push it to the pile of debris.  
  
My volunteers — mostly women and teenagers — have worked tirelessly. We were amazed when sod arrived from District 11 to be unrolled and set in place. In just a few weeks, we have a town square with lush green grass, benches and even a playground for children. We dug a small pond that is already attracting ducks and geese.  
  
But amongst all of our successes was the fact that Peeta was sleeping less and less, and we were spending far less time together than we should have. Maybe it was the drive to get things done so that we could return to normal. Who knows?  
  
Yesterday morning, we ate breakfast hurriedly. Peeta was going to meet with an inspector from the Capitol for final approval on the new buildings before anyone took occupancy. I was going to put finishing touches on exterior fencing on the square. It's an old rail-style fencing, not intended to keep anyone in or out, just to add to overall beauty.  
  
We kissed one other goodbye far too quickly for either of our likings. Our love life has definitely been back-burnered through all if this. We hastily made a promise to catch up with each other over the weekend and parted to go our separate ways.  
  
There was something nagging me that I had not felt since we parted ways in the second arena, but I I pushed it down and headed off to do my work. Only about half the crew was there with the other half working on placing sod in the residential areas. We all feel a responsibility to rebuild District 12 as much as possible.  
  
I felt distracted most of the morning and my mind kept going to Peeta. I wondered what he was doing and how he was feeling. My mind strayed to that morning when I was tempted to wake him to make love before work, but his face was etched with a tiredness that even sound sleep could not erase. I reasoned to myself that my distraction was the result of my body craving the touch of Peeta and the passion of our love making.  
  
Just before 10:30, my heart stuttered and I felt a physical pain rip through me. In that moment, I knew instinctively that something was wrong. "Peeta!" I called out as I started on a dead run from the square to one of the adjacent blocks. He could be anywhere, yet my legs determinedly carried me forward.  
  
I was about to make the leap to the new curb when a door half the block down opened and a panicked Thom appeared. "Katniss, quick, it's Peeta!" There was fear in his eyes and I dashed forward rounding the edge of the door frame.  
  
Peeta was inside or rather the mutant version of my boy with bread was inside. His eyes were dark and flat. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. All that was expected and manageable. But the fact that he held the neck of the Capitol inspector in some kind of wrestling hold was not.  
  
The man had light blue skin which seemed to be turning bluer as the seconds flew by. "Peeta," I ventured quietly. "Peeta, can you let the man go?"  
  
Peeta's eyes were unfocussed but there seemed to be a slight flicker. His head swung from side to side and his grip seemed to tighten causing the small man to choke. Thom was mere steps away but stood helplessly, unsure of what to do.  
  
Peeta's was nearly hyperventilating when his eyes shifted and took on a wild, crazed look. It was the first time I had witnessed an attack like this up close and wondered if somehow he had looked that way as his hands had closed around my windpipe.  
  
"Peeta, you're tired.. You're working too hard," I whispered softly as I made my way toward him. "You don't want to hurt him. You're my boy now, Peeta. Let him go. Let him go and we can go home and sleep. Wouldn't that be nice? You and me?" My voice was even and calm as I made my way to him.  
  
"He tried to kill me," he barked out and stepped backward.  
  
"I … I … I … did … did … not," the man gasped.  
  
I was close now. I knew that Peeta's inner rage was directed at this man. This little man with the blue skin, and I wondered what happened. "Peeta," I reached forward and touched his left bicep and could feel the taut muscle straining underneath. I rubbed gently.  "Peeta, who am I?"  
  
"K-K-Katnisss," he gritted out and I could tell he was starting to fight the inner demons.  
  
"Where do you live?" I ran my hand up to his shoulder and started to knead it, the muscles tight beneath my fingers.  
  
"Your … housssse," he managed once again.  
  
"Almost right, Peeta, our house." His eyes shifted once more losing some of their wildness. "Remember this morning? Remember our plans for this weekend?" I give him a moment as I can see he's searching his mind. "Well I think we need to get an early start, okay? This afternoon. In fact, I think we need to get away. Go to the lake. I'll teach you to fish and we can continue our swimming lessons. Just let this man go." His arm loosened but not enough to let him go.  
  
I could see the struggles and the turmoil inside him. "You love me. Real or not real."  
  
"Real," he gasped, his eyes softening just a bit.  
  
"Now ask me."  
  
"Y-y-you … l-l-love … m-me," he struggled.  
  
"Real. That's real Peeta." His grip loosened just a bit more. "You're name is Peeta Mellark. You are 18-years-old. You live in District 12. You are a baker. You are a painter. You sleep in our bedroom with the window open. You painted murals on the wall. You are helping to rebuild our district." With each phrase his grip loosened until the man slipped out and scurried away. Peeta pulled me in and gripped me furiously.  
  
This marked the first time that one of his flashbacks was not directly associated with me. Peeta clung to me like a small child. I could feel his heart racing beneath his shirt and knew that he was frightened, so I rocked him like I used to rock Prim when she would awaken from her night terrors. I murmured to him quietly telling him how much I loved him and how much I needed him until we slumped to the floor. His flashbacks took a lot out of him and after, he needed to rest.  
  
I disentangled myself from him and stood, looking at the pathetic little man from the Capitol. He pulled himself up to his full height which wasn't very tall, and looked at me indignantly.  
  
"He's crazy," he hissed at me, twisting his features into an ugly mask. "I'm pressing charges. A man like him … ."  
  
But I didn't let him finish. I strode across the room and shoved him against the wall. For the second time that day, this man found himself in a chokehold, but if he thought Peeta was dangerous, I was far more deadly. "What? What? A man like him?" I gritted through clenched teeth. "A man like him is a far better man than you can ever hope to be. A man like him survived not one but two arenas all for the sake of entertaining mutts like you." The man cringed.  
  
"Not only did he survive, but he somehow managed to keep his morals intact. He didn't hunt people down, he only went after them when they posed a threat to either me or him. He's not deranged or mentally ill. He's only volatile because of the torture he endured in the Capitol for no better reason than he survived and was unlucky enough to be picked up by the Capitol."  
  
The man emanated fear at this point. His entire body quivered. "Do you know what it's like to see a child die? Really see a child die? Do you know what it's like to live with the knowledge that someone else is dead because of you?" He shook his head frantically. "If you think he's dangerous, you better understand, I'm a hundred times more lethal. If you think he's crazy, you haven't seen anything yet." I must have looked like a maniac. "If you think he's crazy, you better realize I'm even crazier."  
  
I felt warmth hitting my leg and looked down to realize that he had pissed himself out of fear. "If you ever, EVER, breathe a word about this to anyone or press charges against Peeta, I will hunt you down. Do you understand?" He nodded frantically. "Trust me, one word, and … ." I pushed my forearm into his throat just a little harder to emphasize my point before releasing him.  
  
I turned to Thom to see a slightly amused expression on his face. "Thom would you finish the tour and take any notes from him regarding changes that we need to make?"  
  
"Yes, I will," Thom said gesturing toward the man who quickly moved to the safety of the only person in the room he deemed sane. They moved to the door and made their way to the street. Outside, I could hear the sounds of the fabricators at work and the high powered hand tools as more walls were fit into place.  
  
I moved to the door and saw Thom carrying on the tour as if nothing had happened. In the distance, Sae was giving orders to the volunteers finishing up the square. She noticed me and raised her arm in greeting. I glanced back at Peeta who still slept soundly against the wall, his face was smooth and he looked young and vulnerable. He would sleep at least another half hour so I made my way out to Sae.  
  
"Sae, I'm sorry but I won't be able to help you anymore today."  
  
Her expression turned worried. "The boy in a bad way?"  
  
"He was but he's fine now." Fine is a relative term these days. When considering his state minutes before, Peeta is fine now. She nods.  
  
"Take your time. Take care of our boy." She reached forward and pulled me into a hug. Somewhere along the line, Peeta had crossed from Merchant to everyone's child. It gave me a sense of comfort to know that people I had grown to love, loved Peeta in return. I nodded quickly and she squeezed just a little before releasing me.  
  
I headed back inside and slumped against the wall next to Peeta. I pulled his head into my lap and went through a checklist of all the things I wanted to bring with us to the lake. Eventually, he stirred and sat up, looking like a lost boy. He looked at me and I held out my arms to him and he quickly gathered me to him, holding me tightly.  
  
After a few moments, we separated just enough to allow me to stand and pull him to his feet. "Come on. Let's go home and pack." He nodded and we walked out hand-in-hand. We rounded a corner and came face-to-face with the man from the Capitol. He stepped quickly backward and averted his eyes. But it didn't matter. Peeta's focus was on the Victor's Village sign in the far distance.  
  
Our pace was quick, as if to slow down might permanently impede our progress toward our goal of getting to the lake. Neither of us spoke. I knew that when he was ready, Peeta would tell me what happened that brought about this flashback. As we neared our house, we could hear Haymitch's geese squabbling loudly, and a smile ghosted Peeta's lips. The familiar sounds of home.  
  
We entered the house and discovered that Cocoa, our puppy, has torn up another pillow. Since her arrival the month before, Cocoa has been both a blessing and a curse. At that moment, I saw her entirely as a curse and was just about to rage against her, when Peeta stooped to pick her up and she wiggled in his arms and licked his chin. The look on his face melted my anger and in that moment, Cocoa was a blessing once again.  
  
"I'm going to get my paints," he said, as he moved to the stairs, still cradling the puppy. I stayed behind in the kitchen quickly setting out the supplies we would take with us. Most of our food would be either freshly caught, shot or picked but staples like bread and cheese buns were a must. Eventually, I headed upstairs and packed our clothes and then went to Peeta's studio to check on him.  
  
I discovered him furiously painting. He missed my approach and continued to paint, even as I arrived at his shoulder. The painting was like none other. Ugly, cruel, cold. Even the horrific arena scenes paled in comparison. "Peeta?" He jumped at the sound of my voice and quickly set down his palette and dropped the cloth over the painting.  
  
It was private. He never intended for anyone to see it. He turned to me, his face flushed and his eyes  somewhat manic. "Sorry. I … uh …. got absorbed in something. You ready?" I nodded. I knew the painting was linked to the flashback but I also knew he was not yet ready to speak about it.  
  
We walked back to our room and he helped me carry our clothes downstairs. Peeta went to the basement to gather our backpacks, and together we packed our clothes and supplies. He helped me into mine and then hefted his to his shoulders. At the door, we gathered our jackets and bags.  
  
We walked mostly in silence, holding hands and enjoying the luxury of each other's company. Cocoa scrambled behind, taking time to sniff and thoroughly enjoy the sights and sounds around her. We took pleasure in the beauty of the woods, fully leafed out, lush and green. Another reminder to me that nature renews itself. It will never be the same woods I grew up hunting in but somehow it's better. It's our woods now.  
  
I pointed to a pile of brush which was gathered years — maybe decades — before I ever started coming to the woods. "In late July, there will be tons of raspberries there." Peeta followed my finger and nodded slightly. Peeta never questions the information I give him.  
  
We arrived at the lake mid-afternoon and set up camp. We brought a small tent, but decided to sleep under the stars weather permitting. As Peeta grappled with the tent, I dug a small fire pit and arranged rocks around it. Cocoa splashed in the water. Peeta remained uncharacteristically quiet. It was a bit unnerving by this point, and I found myself chattering about nothing to fill the void.  
  
Peeta didn't seem to mind though, and even as we settled on the shore to fish, he maintained his silence. Our fishing rods were new, but purchased with the idea that we didn't want anything fancy. So our rods are plain bamboo with a simple reel on them.  
  
We managed to catch enough fish for supper and Peeta grilled them over the flames. Augmented by cheese buns and wild berries, it was the perfect meal. Slowly, the tension was leaving Peeta's face and his smiles were more relaxed.  
  
"Markham Jeffries." I looked up and noted the mischievous glint in his eye as we played the latest round of "Real or Not Real." Sometimes the game was just silly and nothing hinged on the outcome of the answer.  
  
"What?" I asked.  
  
"First kiss. Real or Not Real."  
  
"Not Real. Ewwwww. He chewed tobacco and … ." I trailed off and shuddered. "Besides, you were my first kiss … in the cave."  
  
He smiled. His first genuine smile since early morning. "And how was I," he asked.  
  
"Eh … ." I shrugged. "Bloody and dirty in a damp cave." But then I looked up and saw him staring at me, "I wouldn't have kissed you a second time if it hadn't been good." It was the truth. There was also the fact, that even in the same circumstances, no one but Peeta could have gotten me to kiss him a first time. "You know, I didn't realize it then but I was falling for you."  
  
"Hmmm, could've fooled me." He leaned forward and kissed me.  
  
"Who was your first kiss?" I leaned back.  
  
"Uh … Delly," his face flushed at the memory.  
  
I was a bit taken aback. "Really? I thought you two were … ."  
  
"We were. We were actually seven and we were playing house and she said I needed to kiss her goodbye. Well, I was already seriously in like with you, so I resisted. Delly was not about to be put off so she backed me up against the tree and kissed me. I was horrified and angry." He chuckled. "I pushed her away and she tripped and got her dress dirty. Well, we never played house again after that."  
  
I laughed at the description of little Delly Cartwright being pushed to the dirt following a kiss. "What about your first real kiss?" We could talk about it now. At least I thought we could.  
  
"I didn't have a lot of experience, Katniss. Just two girls." I felt relieved. "Selma Richards, her dad owned the produce market. My mom arranged for me to go to the winter dance with her because she was an only child and it would have secured my future."  
  
I hadn't given it much thought but Peeta as the third son of the baker would most certainly have been left out of the family trade. If he couldn't have found a match in the merchant sector, he likely would have been forced into the mines.  
  
"It was a quick peck goodnight, but I knew she wasn't for me. I wanted the girl from the Seam. Then there was Hartley Evans." I remembered her. She seemed to always be chasing Peeta and it stung to discover that she actually caught him at some point. "About a month before the games, she came into the bakery and told me she had something for me. We went out back and she kissed me. It went further than I expected but not as far as it probably could have."  
  
He was quiet for a moment. "The only reason it went as far as it did was because I saw you and Gale that morning heading to the Hob. You were laughing and talking and I knew it would never be me. But they're gone now, Katniss. Selma and Hartley never made it out alive."  
  
"If things had been different, would you … ?"  
  
"If things had been different, would you and Gale have gotten together?" I think about this for a minute. Different would mean that Peeta was dead. No. Different would mean that there was no revolution. No. Different would mean that nothing changed. No. I shake my head no.  "Me either. If I couldn't have had you, Katniss, I wouldn't have wanted anyone. I know that sounds stupid, but I set my heart on you early on."  
  
The game turns lighter again, and soon the sun is setting and we were wrapped in the sleeping bag, my back leaning against Peeta's chest. He yawned behind me and I knew he was exhausted from the day's events. I stood and stretched and then began stripping out of my clothes.  
  
"Now there's a sight I never want to get used to," he laughed. "Katniss Everdeen stripping to her birthday suit without a care in the world." I shove his shoulder playfully.  
  
"You've been a bad influence, Mellark." He grinned at me as he pulled open the bag and we settled in. Really, it's meant for just one person, but I wouldn't want it any bigger. He slid in back of me and pulled me close, his arms winding around my middle. He kissed my shoulder.  
  
"I love you, Katniss Everdeen, who lies naked in my arms."  
  
"I love you, Peeta Mellark, whose body fits perfectly into mine."  He laughed at me and leaned around for a goodnight kiss before settling back.  
  
Several minutes passed in silence and I began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. Then I heard him whisper. "He had blue skin." The phrase sent chills through me and I knew that he was about to explain what happened. "Uh … maybe you don't want to hear."  
  
"No, Peeta, tell me. I need to know. I need to hear everything after we separated in the arena." Instinctively, I knew that blue skin was linked to some torture in the Capitol.  
  
He's silent while he gathers his thoughts. "I'm not sure if I can tell you everything. It's all jumbled, you know. But I kind of remember when you kissed me goodbye and told me you would see me at midnight. After that, everything moved fast. I remember seeing the wire go slack and starting to recoil. I ran down the hill and saw Brutus attack Chaff, and then I killed Brutus. Then I went looking for you."  
  
He tightens his hold before continuing. "All at once the arena lit up and then started to crumble. I didn't know what happened. The next thing I knew I was in the Capitol. A man interrogated me about what I knew and I think he was frustrated by my lack of information. I'm pretty sure that they gave me a full body polish and then I was taken to Caesar. Maybe a day or two after they pulled me out."  
  
"That soon?" I managed to say even though I realized now that means that he was tortured much longer than anyone thought. "I had been in 13 awhile before it aired." I mentally did the math — three weeks, maybe four.  
  
Peeta nodded. "I don't know when it aired. Uh … then the torture started. They … uh … brought Johanna in and … did things to her in front of me or maybe through a glass. They held her down and dripped water on her and then used … electric shock things … inserted in … her … ." He trailed off and I shuddered. I knew what he was saying. Sexual torture. Of course, used as a sex slave for so long and no one left who still loved her. Damn!  
  
He continued on for several minutes detailing the torture of Johanna. Sometimes he would only hear the results of her torture. Other times he had firsthand knowledge. He begged and pleaded for them to turn their assaults on him. After a week or so, they brought in Darius and Lavinia. Peeta never knew either of them personally, but they were tortured because of us or rather me.  
  
"It's their … noises that I hear sometimes. They would gag and gurgle and choke. All these guttural animalistic sounds. They couldn't scream. One day the guard handed me a cutter and told me to start with their fingers. But I couldn't. So instead of cutting off the entire finger, the guard cut them one joint at a time. All the while explaining to them … and me, that it was my fault. That I was responsible for what happened to them."  
  
His voice is low, almost a whisper. "Then one day, they sliced his penis to ribbons, and I watched Darius nearly insane with pain. The guard turned to me and held out the knife and said, 'His balls. Cut his balls off.' I grabbed the knife from him and made like I was going to do it but I plunged it into his heart. I had to end it. I had to. The guard was so shocked that I managed to kill Lavinia too."  
  
Peeta sobbed at that point, and I realize that whatever I've gone through pales in comparison with Peeta's torture. "They took me to my cell, and I was covered in blood. Snow came and told me how disappointed in me he was and that since I had 'dispatched' Darius and Lavinia, it was going to be my turn the next day."  
  
"When did you remember all that?" I asked.  
  
"It was always with me, I guess. Until the team helped me sort out the fact that it wasn't shiny, I wasn't sure if it was real or not."  
  
Shiny memories. I wish the memories had been shiny. I know Peeta, my Peeta, probably agonized over the deaths of Darius and Lavinia, but he had to do it. Peeta knew the only way to end the cycle was to raise the knife himself. "I think they knew. … I think Darius knew when I took the knife that I was going to kill him. His eyes … ." But he didn't finish and he's quiet for a long time. My stomach churned at the thought of what had happened to Darius and Lavinia because they were unfortunate enough to have crossed my path.  
  
"The man with the blue skin came the next day. He didn't introduce himself for several days. In fact, he didn't even talk. I soon realized he was tasked with torturing me in such a manner that he left few physical marks. He would pop my shoulder out of joint and leave me writhing on the table and then he would dislocate my elbow or my knee or my fingers. All the while, pictures of you were shown on the wall. I think they wanted me to associate you with pain."  
  
I had been crying for awhile but the description, even this brief one, left me sobbing uncontrollably. He pulled me even closer and murmured soft words. Finally, I managed, "Go on."  
  
Peeta seemed almost disconnected when he continued, as if it never really happened to him. "Sometimes they would send me back to my cell with my joints still dislocated. The second interview with Caesar was during this time. It was, I think, live." It all makes sense now. How quickly he had seemed to deteriorate. The torture had been going on weeks.  
  
"Right after the interview, blue skin reappeared and said, 'My name is Dr. Mathias Jacobi. I specialize in pain management. Usually, I try to prevent it. Recently, I'm trying to examine it.' His voice was high pitched and squeaky, and I would have laughed had the thought of the impending pain not been so great. Jacobi went on to say, 'You have really been quite remarkable. The pain must be at almost intolerable levels but somehow you have managed not to curse the very existence of the whore, Mockingjay. But the gloves are off, so to speak. No more, Mr. Nice Guy from me.'" Peeta's breath hitched.  
  
"Jacobi explained tracker jackers in detail, and told me that by the time he was finished was with me, I would hate you and wish you dead. He altered some memories just by talking about them. Somehow he knew my mother beat me when I was little and he used that against me all the time. I had nightmares of being beaten but Mother didn't hold the stick, it was you."  
  
Peeta continued for several minutes more as he detailed the cruelness of Dr. Jacobi. If I had thought the pull to kill Snow was strong, it paled in comparison with my desire to end Dr. Jacobi's feeble existence.  
  
"So today, when blue skin arrived, it was all I could do not to snuff the life from him. Jacobi was that same shade of blue, and for a moment I thought it was him." Peeta sounded contrite. "I am a monster after all."  
  
At that, I swiveled quickly in his arms and swung my leg over his hip, while wrapping my arms around his torso. "Peeta, you are not a monster. You are the furthest thing from a monster. Every day, Peeta, every day, I'm blown away by your goodness. You are selfless, Peeta. You reacted to something unexpected and it triggered something within you. I want Jacobi dead, Peeta. I want him to suffer. What does that say about me? And I wasn't even tortured." I suddenly feel uncertain. "Peeta, I pushed him against the wall and told him I would hunt him down if he ever breathed a word of what happened. Maybe I'm the monster."  
  
He shakes his head furiously, and his lips find mine. We kiss for several seconds before he draws back. "Protecting me again, Miss Everdeen?" I smile and nod.  
  
For a long time we stare into each other's eyes. His are colorless in the moonlight. Then his lips twitch up in the corners, "You really are beautiful, Katniss." He laughs when I roll my eyes. "All in all, Katniss, I really wouldn't change anything considering the outcome." I really can't believe him sometimes. I would never wish for him to go through any of that so that we could end up together.  
  
But then, he is Peeta, my Peeta. I am his and he is mine. Eventually, we drift off to sleep. A sweet and dreamless sleep in spite of everything.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The "fabricator" idea is not really so far-fetched in this 3-D printer world we live in today. It's only a matter of time before we will be able to "print" pretty much anything.


	17. Hollow Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and settings are the property of Suzanne Collins.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The summer moves on and the days become hotter. Thunderstorms move through the area, causing me to cling to Peeta as flashbacks of the lightning tree hit me with force. Mercifully, Peeta’s memories of the lightning tree don’t end in his own special hell. He remains grounded throughout and pulls me back from the edge of hysteria.  
  
In spite of everything, though, the past few months have been good to us, and I’ve realized that I’ve experienced more “hollow days” recently than in the final year leading up to the first Hunger Games. Hollow days were once common in District 12. Those days when no matter what, you couldn’t get enough food to quench your hunger. Now, however, my hollow days are markedly different in that the thing I hunger for is not food but rather, Peeta.  
  
Some days I awake with such a hunger — a need — that I find myself slipping on top of him while he still dozes, his hardon lying tautly against his stomach. It begins there and doesn’t end to late evening because each time he moves to leave the bed, I cling to him and pull him back nearly begging him to fill me once more.  
  
“Who is this vixen?” I asked myself one day as I stared in the mirror. Without thinking, my reflection smirked back at me in a self-satisfied way which caused my jaw to drop. However, make no mistake, I would a hundred times rather see that smirk than the frown which had permanently taken over my face.  
  
Peeta doesn’t seem to mind my hollow days, although, they tend to leave him weak by day’s end unless he’s allowed food to refuel. So, my technique has changed a bit— reshaped itself to accommodate our physical needs. I’ve grown accustomed to the feeling that precedes such a day and now stock simple supplies in the room. There’s always plenty of baked goods in our home, so I generally bring up a generous supply, along with some of the dried meat that I’ve been experimenting with lately. I also bring fruit and vegetables from our garden.  
  
Last night, he smiled knowingly as I filled the small coffeepot that Effie sent us and set it on the bedside table. He knew what was approaching and slipped his arm around my waist. “Best we get a good night’s sleep tonight, hmmm?” He kissed my cheek lazily and my heart fluttered at the timber of his voice.  
  
We snuggled beneath the covers, and with only a chaste kiss, we fell asleep in each others arms. But the morrow is already upon us, and I study Peeta’s features in the dim light filtering through the window. He sleeps peacefully and I decide to give him more time before I succumb to my physical demands.

* * *

The past week has seen the completion of one more block of businesses and two blocks of residential area. Two apartment buildings were erected as part of the residential area. The living quarters are filling as quickly as they are erected. Thom and Sae came up with a good lottery system to assign the houses. Sae, of course, lives in Peeta’s old house, and the Hawthornes have moved in there as well. Thom, on the other hand, is still awaiting a chance to get into one of the houses as he subjected himself to the lottery system as well.  
  
The apartments are generally one bedroom, and only single adults usually apply for these housing units. Delly Cartwright surprised all of us when her name was called. We knew she was returning to the District, but hadn’t seen anything of her. When she took the stage, Peeta and I exchanged glances. Somewhere along the line, she had lost all traces of the pudginess of childhood. She signed her lease and then crossed the stage and engulfed Peeta in a warm hug before turning to do the same to me.  
  
“I just arrived this morning. I received the checks in the mail awhile back and couldn’t wait to come here so as soon as I saw the advertisement for housing applications, I filled one out online and, well, took a chance and here I am!”  
  
If I had any reason to be jealous of her presence, the next moment quelled my worries. “Ma’am,” Thom’s rich baritone broke in, “your application indicates two people.”  
  
“Right!” A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.  
  
“The other person will have to sign as well.”  
  
“Sure! Chester, come here!” Delly beckoned to the crowd, and a pale, tall, lanky man in his late twenties moves forward, clutching a hat in his fingers.  
  
“May I see your ID, please?” Thom asked. All non-District 12 residents must present identification before taking up residency in one of the new homes. Chester reached into his pocket and pulled out the small plate that is embossed with his vital information. Thom swiped it and the computer screen flickered to life. “Chester Miller, originally of District 13 and more recently, the Capitol?” Chester nodded. “Will you be making this your permanent residence?”  
  
“Yes, I believe so, Dell and I are married and we’re going to re-establish the shoe shop.” He bent to sign the papers, and once he finished, Peeta tugged them both aside.  
  
“Chester!” He hugged him tightly, and for just a second Chester looked uncomfortable. “This is Katniss Everdeen,” Peeta pulled me closer and I extended my hand.  
  
“Yes, of course,” Chester replied as if it’s ridiculous that anyone would think otherwise.  
  
“Come on,” Peeta said and pulled us all from the stage. “Let’s go to our house and get acquainted.”  
  
We spent the better part of the hour hearing about Delly’s courtship. Peeta already seemed well informed. Chester was a technician working in the District 13 hospital when Peeta was there. Delly shyly described getting to know him and I honestly wondered why I didn’t remember him having spent so much time in the hospital.  
  
Finally, when I asked, he admitted quietly, “I was in the psychologically damaged ward.” It’s then that I realized that through my entire stay in thirteen, little was done for me psychologically but everything was done for me physically. Certainly, I was “damaged” even then — hiding in closets, unable to bring coherent thoughts to the surface, the guilt, the frustration, the anger. Finnick too, was barely helped. Maybe everyone assumed that trained killers such as ourselves were immune to psychological trauma, or maybe it was in Coin’s best interest to keep the “victors” a little off balance.  
  
The rest of our visit passed with little input from me. Delly recounted their “tying the knot” ceremony where they literally knotted themselves together as a show of commitment. She wants to have a toasting and vowed to invite us. Chester revealed that he’s the only surviving member of his family since the epidemic swept through thirteen and killed his parents and two younger brothers.  
  
I don’t miss the way Delly’s eyes shined when she looked at Chester. Clearly, he's the center of her universe. Toward the end of their visit, Delly said, “Enough about us. What about you two? I always knew you’d be great together and I can see that I was right, just by looking.”  
  
I’m about to protest that there’s no way anyone can tell how “great together” we are just by looking, when she continued. “Peeta, you’re just so content. No more fidgeting or looking about anxiously, and you too, Katniss. I see the way you smile at him when you think no one’s looking. I know that you’re holding hands beneath the table.” I startled slightly and she giggled. “I’m just so happy for you both!”  
  
Peeta is the center my universe. He’s my entire life. I know it and I’ve reconciled myself to it vowing to do everything in my power to protect him and keep him safe. What stunned me is that it’s obvious even outsiders. Delly smiled at me encouragingly.  
  
“Everything is going well,” I began tentatively and then my eyes moved to Peeta’s, and suddenly I’m gushing in a very un-Katnisslike way. “I … I really can’t imagine my life without you, Peeta. You are the lifeline that saved me. My rock. My hope for tomorrow and for the future.” As far as I’m concerned Delly and Chester have ceased to exist, and my words were only for Peeta. “You’re my dandelion in the spring time and the sense that everything will be good again. And it is. Good again, I mean. You haven’t asked me to forget but stood beside me as I remembered. I love you.”  
  
My sudden burst caused tears to form in his eyes and one by one they slid down his cheek unnoticed by him. “Katniss, I used to imagine a life with you and did a pretty poor job of it. Each day, is better than the last. Even when we have struggles, we know there’s someone else standing right there waiting. I love you too, Katniss. You’re the reason I survived.”  
  
Peeta leaned in and kissed me, deepening it without really even trying. “Oooooooooooh,” Delly squealed, causing us to jump apart, both our faces flushed. “That’s got toasting written all over it. Have you done your toasting yet?”  
  
After a few seconds, “No, Del. We’re very content letting everything happen in its own time.” We are. But I’m committed to Peeta in a way I never dreamed possible. Growing up, I never considered the possibility of falling in love and living with someone. A toasting never crossed my mind. Yet somehow, the idea now seems like a natural extension to the relationship.  
  
Delly nodded quickly, biting her lip to halt the blossoming smile. “I’m just for so happy for you both. Dreams really do come true, don’t they, Peeta?”  
  
“Yes they do, Del,” he looked at me and winked.  
  
“The stories I could tell you,” Delly teased.  
  
Chester cleared his throat, “Delilah, we mustn’t keep them any longer,” he stood up abruptly and Delly looked at him in surprise.  
  
“Well, I suppose,” she reluctantly rose.  
  
“You two are welcome anytime,” I said as Peeta and I stood together. Delly leaned in and gave me an impulsive hug which I returned a bit awkwardly.  
  
“I am so happy for you both. You deserve all the happiness you can find.” I nodded tentatively, still not ready to accept that happiness is mine for the taking.  
  
They hurried out the door, Chester’s face in an odd grimace. “I hope they’re happy together,” Peeta said, as he moved toward me for a hug that I warmly reciprocated. “She deserves someone good in her life.”  
  
I agreed completely and made a note to seek Delly out. She did so much for Peeta and her strong belief in me helped resolve some of his initial fears.  
  
But our work schedules have been heavy, and we haven’t seen either one of them. Although, I imagine they are busy settling into their new apartment.  
  
On the other hand, we have seen more than enough of Gale as he pops up on television with frequency, each time issuing stronger and stronger words regarding the bombing in City Square.  
  
Every appearance leaves me feeling queasy. Yesterday at noon, they broke into regular programming, a weather show, for an important update. “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you important information about the allegations that a bomb was created for the purpose of luring children together and ultimately killing them. Beetee LeTee had this to say.”  
  
The picture changed to Beetee in his wheelchair unfolding a piece of paper. “Good morning. I’m Beetee LeTee, victor of the 55th Annual Hunger Games and participant in the Quarter Quell.” Peeta and I frowned in unison at his introduction of himself. Everything with Beetee is calculated. Everything.  
  
“My services in the rebellion were secured months before the Quarter Quell. Colonel Thadeus Boggs arrived in District 3 to speak with me and my fellow victor, Wiress Jennings, about developing explosive devices that would be the most efficient in causing the greatest amount of damage. We agreed and began work immediately. To us, it was as if we had been presented an equation to be resolved on paper. Human lives did not factor into it.”  
  
He paused and pushed his glasses up on his face for effect. I’ve often wondered why a man from Beetee’s district needed glasses as there were any number of surgeries available to fix defective eyes. The glasses had to serve some other purpose.  
  
“After the Quell, with Wiress gone and no longer part of the equation, President Coin assigned a young man from District 12 to assist me. Gale Hawthorne of course, lacked the skills to work competently with the explosives directly. But he did prove invaluable with his considerable hunting experience in the creation of what were called ‘snares.’”  
  
Beetee wiped his forehead with a cloth and continues. “Gale explained the intricacies of using young to draw in the adult for a greater … shall we say … kill?” His words caused murmuring through the gathered reporters. “It was his base information that resulted in the creation of the so-called, ‘Parachute Bomb.’ Gale actually came up with the idea of parachutes as they represented hope in the arena.”  
  
His words hit me like a ton of bricks. My heart stuttered in my chest. Beetee is not only acknowledging the bomb came from the rebels but that Gale played a significant role. I felt Peeta’s arm around me, holding me tightly as Beetee continued. “… But make no mistake about it. These bombs would never have been sent in had not President Snow ordered the children to the square as a human shield. These bombs would never have been used without a direct order from President Coin herself.”  
  
Beetee paused for effect. “These two people are solely responsible for the death of these children. For we cannot be held liable for the mere invention whose purpose would never have been realized without the intervention of others. Thank you. No further comment.” He maneuvered away from the reporters toward a side door.  
  
The announcer returned. “That was Defense Minister Beetee LeTee who acknowledged his role in the creation of the devastating bomb that resulted in the death of 712 children aged fourteen and under and the serious injury to 403 others, including the Mockingjay and her mate.” Pictures of Peeta and me flashed on the screen. “We have a field reporter standing by in District 2 for Gale Hawthorne’s reaction.”  
  
Just then the camera switched to District 2 as Gale emerged from a door holding papers in front of face. Reporters jostled him trying for the best angle. “Did you hear Mr. LeTee’s statement?”  
  
“No comment. No comment.” Gale’s voice is muffled, and after months of issuing rambling statements of innocence, he's now nearly mute. The papers prevented him from seeing where he’s going and he stumbled forward dropping the papers and revealing his face which is splotchy. His eyes rimmed in red. He’s been crying. For what? For whom? Prim. Doubtful. He’s known all along and had plenty of time to shed tears. Undoubtedly for himself.  
  
I stood up and quickly switched off the television. “Damn! What’s going to happen now?” Ordinarily, I would have felt nausea but I only felt anger.  
  
Peeta looked at me, his eyes boring deeply into mine. “Hard to say. Beetee acknowledged the bombs origin but laid the blame of their use on the doorsteps of Coin and Snow. He did a pretty good job of absolving himself. A man under orders.” I can’t help but agree. I liked Beetee from the start but he has a way of explaining away his responsibility in every circumstance.  
  
“Katniss, I’m sure that Gale would never have used that bomb of his own accord knowing the end results. Prim is gone and I know that effects you everyday but nothing will bring her back.” I collapsed into his arms and he held me as I sobbed against his shoulder, wetting his white shirt clean through.  
  
After several minutes, he moved me gently back. “Come on, let’s look at the book.” I looked at the clock and realized it’s already after one, but there’s nothing really pressing to get back to work for. Everyone has grown accustomed to our erratic schedules ever since Peeta’s episode, and the work continues whether we are there or not.  
  
Peeta removed the book from the shelf and set it on the table. We’ve added to it and the stories now fill more than a hundred pages. The last thing we added was a photo of Finn’s baby, Flynn Cadence O’Dair, 6 pounds 2 ounces. His eyes were a muddy mix of blue and green and Annie assured us they would be green in just a short time.  
  
But Peeta started from the front. Prim. His voice was steady as he read the all too brief description of her that I penned there months ago. I stared at Peeta’s beautiful drawing and know that it was drawn with love and care and captures her better than a sterile photo would have.  
  
“Katniss,” Peeta says after he finishes reading. “I know how you’ve grieved for your sister. Felt guilt that you couldn’t protect her.” I bow my head as fresh tears course down my cheeks. “I feel guilty too. I watched as the parachutes dropped and I had a sense of foreboding but I was powerless to stop them. The children haunted me for months, but mainly Prim. I tried to save you both and when I realized that Prim was too far gone, I wanted to die myself because I had let you down.”  
  
“Oh, Peeta!” I shook my head no. “Peeta, you’re not to blame. I don’t blame you at all. You were the only one trying to save her.” He looks at me sadly. Knowing what he was going through last fall. How he was hanging on to reality by just a thread. How he could have easily laughed at my dilemma, he instead chose to douse the flames and attempt to rescue Prim, resulting in the burns he sustained.  
  
“Peeta, please know that I don’t blame you for Prim. You went beyond what I would have expected and I will always be … thankful that she had you in her final moments. That you cared enough to try to rescue her.”  
  
Finally, he gives a single nod. “You know though, Katniss, Gale’s sense of guilt must be even greater. It was his experience that led to the construction of the bomb. But if I know him at all, he’s wishing that he had never had that conversation with Beetee. He made a mistake, Katniss, and it cost him a great deal.”  
  
I know in my heart what he’s saying is true, and maybe someday I will be able to forgive, but right now Beetee’s words echo in my mind. Peeta turns the page and reads the description of my father, and then onto the description of his father, mother and brothers. Madge and the mayor are next, Finn, Boggs, Mitchell, Rue, Thresh, Clove, Cato, and on and on. He reads through Haymitch’s contributions, and finally he reaches the last page. For whatever reason, we chose to place the page about us at the end of the book. Peeta wrote my description and I wrote his.  
  
“Katniss Everdeen, 16, was the first to volunteer from District 12. Following the selection of her sister, Primrose, Katniss bravely stepped forward to volunteer in her place. At once, the Capitol was alerted to the fact that District 12 had a contender who was both brave and loyal. Her hunting and survival skills, learned as a child by her father’s side, resulted in Katniss surviving the games on her own terms.  
  
“Following a bogus rule change, Katniss searched for and found her fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark. Risking her own safety, she managed to save him from a terrible infection that he was battling following a sword wound by fellow tribute, Cato Alexander. Katniss risked her own life to save Peeta, and eventually the two faced Cato in one last grueling battle atop the cornucopia.  
  
“With only the two remaining, an announcement was made revoking the rule change. Instead of bowing to the will of the gamemakers, Katniss instead chose to outwit them by offering poisonous berries to Peeta in a double suicide plot. As the pair moved the berries to their mouths, another announcement filled the air declaring both the winners of the 74th Annual Hunter Games.  
  
“Forced into a relationship she didn’t want, … .”  
  
“Wait, stop.” His words are lovely again, but his last phrase brings me up short. I hold out my hands for the book and he passes it to me. I quickly erase his words and write in my own before passing it back to him. He pauses only a second before continuing to read aloud.  
  
“Pressured into a relationship with Peeta that she didn’t initially choose, Katniss spent the next several months getting to know her fellow victor, gradually falling in love as he loved her. Later, Katniss would realize that the love ‘snuck up’ on her in a manner which she never suspected.” He looks up and smiles, the beautiful Peeta smile. The one that dazzled the Capitol and that made people bend to his wishes. He leans forward and kisses me.  
  
“It’s time, Katniss. It’s time to seal this book and move forward. Prim wouldn’t want us to mourn her indefinitely, and neither would any of the others. Let’s pledge to live our lives well as a remembrance of their deaths.” I can only nod as Peeta moves to the cupboard and pulls out salt and mixes it in water.  
  
He returns to the table with a soft brush, and one by one we seal the pages with salt water and say our final farewells to each of those who have touched our lives in some way and are no longer with us.  “This book will someday help explain to others what happened but also serve as a reminder of all that has been lost so that we will survive.”  
  
After we finish, Peeta looks at me seriously, “Katniss, I will want to marry you someday, and I will want to have children.” My mind races at the thought. Children were never part of my life plan but I know that I won’t deny him anything. “I don’t expect you to want those things right now, but someday, I will convince you that it’s the right thing.” He smiles shyly. “In the meantime, let’s promise ourselves to live each day to the fullest.”  
  
His lips brush mine and I feel myself smile against them. Only Peeta could bring me to this point. I’m reminded again of Gale’s words in the cellar months ago. How he had made my decision sound cold and calculating. That I would choose the one that I needed to survive. Gale knew me better than I knew myself. Survival is so much more than merely keeping myself fed and clothed. There’s the mental and emotional survival that without Peeta, I would still be mired in the depths of despair.  
  
“Peeta, I’m ready.” My words surprise me. “Just the two of us. A private toasting. We can get a certificate later and do a public toasting, but I’m ready now.” Marriage was never a consideration but now pledging myself to Peeta is the only consideration.There’s really no reason to wait. If I’ve learned anything in the past two years, no one is guaranteed a future. “I want to live my life to the fullest … with you.”  
  
His face reflects shock, but he quickly transforms it into a magnificent grin. He grips my hand and pulls me to the bread box where a fresh loaf of raisin and nut bread awaits. He cuts three neat squares. Toastings are nearly always done in the evening, but here it is, late afternoon and the sun shining brightly. He steers me to the hearth and quickly builds a small fire.  
  
Tradition dictates that the man goes first, and Peeta holds his bread near the flame and begins speaking. “Five-year-olds don’t fall in love, at least that’s what I was told. But from the moment I first met you, I dreamed of the day you would be mine. My childish day dreams saw me sharing a tree fort with you and baking you brownies. As I grew older, my fantasies took on a decidedly … impure … quality.” I blush at his words, but he continues.  
  
“I began to realize that I might never get the opportunity to love you the way that I wanted. Call it fate or providence but the Hunger Games were the best thing to happen to me in terms of fulfilling my dreams.” The bread toasts evenly in his fingers. “Snow wanted to take me from you. He wanted to twist my love for you into irrevocable hatred. But he left a seed behind that sprouted and grew roots. My love for you Katniss, is mature. Yielding and forgiving. I know there will be tough times ahead, but we’ll face them together.”  
  
Peeta presents the piece of toast and I take a bite and chew it carefully. Tradition also dictates that at this point, the bride takes the toast from her husband and finishes eating it, so I do. Peeta’s stare manages to drive every thought from my head and I blush again as I pick up my bread.  
  
I reach forward and begin the process. “Peeta, I never believed in love … at least not for myself. It’s never something I wanted or yearned for because I saw it as a complication rather than a blessing. Years ago, Peeta, you saved my life. I wanted to thank you but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. After that, I noticed you more than you can ever imagine. I noticed you in class. I noticed you in the cafeteria. I noticed you wrestling. I noticed you in the bakery. After the games, I noticed every little thing about you. Your eyelashes, and the way your tongue peeks out when you’re sketching, and your hands … .” I fumble slightly as I realize I’m started to gush.  
  
“Peeta, my love grew slowly but deeply. Before I even knew my own emotions, others could see it. I love you Peeta, and I promise to try to be the wife you deserve. We’ll meet the challenges together. I love you.” I extend my hand to him and he gingerly takes a bit and chews it methodically before taking the piece of bread from me.  
  
We reach for the final piece together. Normally, there were words. Set phrases that we would repeat together, but instead we remain silent as the final piece toasts. As we withdraw it from the flames, Peeta looks at me and whispers softly. “Together?”  
  
I nod firmly. “Together,” I repeat and we raise the bread to our mouths and each take a bite. Our vow. Our solemn promise to each other. Together. Simple and pure and so us. We lean toward each other and kiss, deep and passionate without a single witness or camera to capture the moment. To the district, we will likely remain an unmarried pair, cohabiting. It doesn’t matter. When we are ready to formalize it, we will.  
  
Peeta lays me back and with the familiarity and practice gained over the preceding months, parts me from my clothes rather quickly. From there on, though, we take our time, relishing the closeness and bond we share.  
  
We each repeat our vows to one another as we perform this age old rite. “I love you, Peeta,” I gasp as shockwaves of pleasure course through my body.  
  
“And I you, Katniss.” His breathing is heavy and erratic as he fights to control himself. A few more strokes, and he collapses on top of me. He’s panting, “We just had a toasting, real or not real.”  
  
“Real,” I reply looking into his blue eyes. He smiles happily in return.  
  
We lay there for a half hour, each lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, we rise and redress. “Should we tell anyone?”  
  
“Do you want to?”  
  
“Maybe Haymitch,” he answers, “so he will get off our backs about ‘living in sin.’” I smile at that, because it’s one of his constant jokes.  
  
“Not today. Maybe next week. Let’s make a list of those we want to tell. I suppose my mother and Greasy Sae.” He nods.  
  
We eat a small supper and I marvel at how everything has changed but really nothing at all. Our lives are have been entwined for so long that the toasting just seems like a natural progression. It’s with this realization that I feel the pangs that precede a hollow day. The thought makes me smile, and I begin gathering the necessary food.

* * *

Peeta stretches beside me, his body going rigid as he does and I see the planes of muscle ripple and tense. His eyes remain shut and his face grimaces as he groans low. I snuggle closer and his arm moves to my waist drawing me even closer. I kiss his neck and blow lightly, “I want you, husband of mine,” I whisper. It takes a second, but his eyes fly open and a wicked smirk overtakes his features.  
  
“You want me, wife of mine?” Peeta nearly growls. “Well I’ve no choice but to oblige that wish.” He rolls over quickly and brings his mouth to mine. Our tongue clash together, fighting for the upper hand. A groan rumbles through his chest.  
  
Peeta Mellark. Classmate, tribute, friend, protector, fiancé, enemy, ally, companion, boyfriend, lover, husband. I pull him closer as my hunger overtakes me. In moments like these, I wonder if I will ever truly be sated again.


	18. An Important Announcement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games characters and setting belong to Suzanne Collins.
> 
> Thanks for reading and look me up on tumblr for fiction not yet posted here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hey-youao

I can hear him whistling as soon as I enter the house. It’s a bright, happy tune — one that I don’t recognize immediately. Ever since our toasting, he seems always to be whistling or humming to himself.   
  
Cocoa, our once tiny puppy has grown longer legs and who seems quite uncoordinated now, sleeps in the corner alongside Buttercup. Since her arrival, they have steadily grown accustomed to one another and now seem to be fierce friends. Cocoa has shown great promise as a hunting dog, but greater promise as Peeta’s companion.   
  
A few nights ago, Peeta suffered a mild flashback which caused him to grip the back of the chair. I was about to go to him just as Cocoa arrived. She sensed that something was wrong with Peeta, and immediately moved to him. Nudging him softly and whimpering slightly. After a few moments, she put her front feet on the chair and strained upward to lick his fingers. Seconds later, Peeta was back in the present and softly stroking her head while he crooned to her.  
  
Ever since, I find more excuses to leave her home when I go hunting. Her ability to calm Peeta is more important than a hunting companion for me.  Upon hearing my soft tread, Cocoa opens one eye before she lifts her head and wags her tail wildly. Buttercup hates the disruption and hisses loudly before emitting a low growl, which causes Cocoa to lap the side of his face with enthusiasm.  
  
Peeta looks in my direction, “Disrupting the peace once again, Mrs. Mellark?” His smile is wide and infectious but he makes no move toward me, his hands near elbow deep in the bread he’s kneading. Instead, I move to him and kiss him on the cheek.   
  
“I was not disrupting the peace, Mr. Mellark, and officially, it’s still Miss Everdeen.”  
  
“Pleading innocent and contradicting the judge?” He raises an eyebrow at me.  
  
“I don’t see a judge anywhere,” I respond and raise my eyes in a suggestive manner. “I see a baker, and a painter. I see my husband and my best friend.” His grin widens. We aren’t official yet. We haven’t filed the necessary paperwork, but we are still married, at least in my book.   
  
Not a lot of people know yet. Haymitch, of course, and Sae and Sadie do as well. We also phoned my mother who seemed a bit distracted at the time and answered with a, “That’s nice kids. Good for you.” The ringing of the phone at midnight startled us from our lovemaking. Neither one of us had heard the phone ring at night, and we approached it with caution as if it was a ticking time bomb.  
  
Peeta answered, “Hello?”  
  
“Peeta. Peeta dear, did I understand you correctly? Are you and Katniss married?” My mother sounded breathless.  
  
“Yes, ma’am. That is, we’ve had the toasting just not filed the paperwork yet, but we will once things have calmed down a bit more.”  
  
“Oh my! … Congratulations. I wish I would have been able to see it.” She sounded disappointed but she really doesn’t want to come back to District 12.   
  
They talked for a few minutes and then she asked to talk to me alone.  
  
She waited several seconds to assure that Peeta had left the room, “Katniss, are you pregnant?”  
  
“What?” I asked horrified by the implications. I don’t want children and the mere thought makes panic rise.  
  
“Pregnant. Are you pregnant, Katniss? Because that’s the only reason I can fathom that you would marry Peeta so … so spontaneously.”  
  
She’s right in a way. I never do things spur of the moment but it had seemed like the right thing to do. “No, Mom, not pregnant. I love Peeta and I know this is forever.” It’s a simple statement but truer words were never spoken in my opinion.   
  
“Oh,” I hear a catch in her voice. “Peeta is a good boy, and I know he loves you so. I’m happy for you.” She sounded genuinely happy.  
  
“Thanks, Mom.” We spoke a little longer and then she told me that she wants to be there for the official version. It seems silly because the “official” version is so sterile and formal, and consists of signing several papers before a bored Capitol-provided clerk pronounces you married. Still, I suppose when the time comes, we could do a small toasting for family and friends.  
  
Peeta and I guard our lives closely, and fortunately most of the residents here do as well. There are instances when the media does infiltrate our quiet existence. Sometimes complete fabrications are printed which causes a range of emotions from anger to outright mirth.   
  
Shortly after Peeta was placed in charge of designing our reconstructed town, an article appeared alleging that he was insisting on rebuilding the district in the likeness of the Capitol. After reading it, Peeta fired back a well-worded response which left no room for doubt. District 12 would be uniquely ours in spite of the equipment lent to us be the Capitol.  
  
On the other hand, the article alleging that I had taken the Mockingjay persona to its fullest and was living in a “nest” in the woods outside the district fences caused me to collapse in fits of laughter. The tears streamed down my face as the article, in all seriousness, suggested that I was gathering pigeon feathers with the intention of teaching myself to fly.   
  
So our current relationship status is private. Certainly, there have been some photos which have appeared of Peeta and me walking hand in hand, or the two of us caught in a warm hug. If Caesar Flickerman was still around, he likely would have been enthusiastically reporting these details to whomever in Panem who still cared.  
  
Peeta finishes the bread and leaves it to rest on the counter. “How has your morning been so far?” We share a secret smile.  
  
“Started out a bit short on sleep,” I answer seriously. “My husband was most anxious to wake me.”  
  
“Oh, too bad,” he answers, matching my tone. “How inconsiderate of him.” His eyes twinkle and he fights his mouth which twitches upward at the corners.  
  
“Yes,” I agree, maintaining my solemness. “He seems to have a penchant for waking me early.”  
  
“I hope he at least had a good reason for it.”  
  
“One would hope … I’m sure he felt it was a good reason.” I try to keep my voice even, but the look on Peeta’s face is once again stirring things deep inside me.  
  
“Do tell.” His lopsided grin causes my stomach to churn, but I’m still not good verbalizing our lovemaking to Peeta when were not in the throes of passion. Once we are though, words pour out of me like a leaky faucet. I seem to have no trouble demanding that Peeta push into me harder and move faster or … . The memory of this morning’s activities causes me to blush as a I clearly remember telling Peeta to “suck my tit.” Certainly not something I would say when we are clothed and in our right minds.  
  
Instead of telling him, I swat his upper arm and move toward the cleaning table that sits in the corner of the room.  
  
“Ahhh, she evades the question. One could possibly think that she enjoys the wake up calls as much as her husband.”  
  
I can’t look at him as I feel my blush spread to my ears. He’s here now, right behind me, his arm wrapped loosely around my stomach as he moves his face closer to my neck. I know what he’s doing. He confessed it weeks ago. He loves the way I smell when I come in from the woods. “Scent of Katniss,” he calls it. When I asked him to describe it, he got this look of deep concentration. “Earthy, like the woods. There’s pine and hemlock, oak, wild flowers, and this undefinable undertone that is essentially you.”  
  
I know what he means. Peeta too, has his own scent. One that I would recognize anywhere. It’s always there, even when he returns from the woods and I can smell other familiar things like pine and berries, he never loses the underlying scents of sugar and cinnamon.  
  
He nuzzles my neck and kisses me and I can feel the outline of him growing as he pushes against me slightly. “Again?” I ask with some incredulity evident in my voice.  
  
“I’m eighteen, Katniss. I think about sex … a lot as do most eighteen-year-olds. Weren’t you paying attention in heath and hygiene?”   
  
I turn my head slightly and take in his blue eyes which have darkened with lust and bite my lower. Was I paying attention? Not really. Our instructor, Miss Moss, drew what looked like the head of a deer on the board and marked it “female” and proceeded to explain, ovaries, eggs and the only goal of “copulation” — procreation. It was dull and boring.  
  
Then she moved onto the male side of things and drew what looked like the head of an elephant. The whole topic was embarrassing but she never mentioned that boys think about sex … a lot. I know I would have remembered that revelation and it probably would have made me feel uncomfortable around Gale if I knew he was thinking about sex.   
  
“I don’t recall hearing that.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“No. I do recall a whole lot of very ‘unmanly’ giggles when Miss Moss drew the deer head on the board though.”  
  
“Not from me. I assure you. I do remember learning though, that boys think about sex on average of eight times every hour. I also remember a fair number of girls casting sidelong glances in the direction of the merchant boys when it was discovered that most were circumcised.”  
  
I remember that too. After she drew the elephant head on the board, she went on to explain that boys from the Seam looked different than boys from Merchant sector because Merchant boys had their foreskins removed as a baby. I didn’t know then what it meant but later I learned the difference after seeing Peeta. His penis was free of the skin that would droop down on the miners who were brought to mother.  
  
“Why do merchants circumcise their little boys?”   
  
“It was a Capitol requirement for the little boys born to merchant families,” Peeta begins. “I know it’s an old tradition and one that has carried on for thousands of years. I suspect they wanted to set their children apart somehow. Your grandmother did most of the little boys in town. If the parents couldn’t afford the six coin operation, they went to Rooba for the two coin version. Having seen some of her mangled work, I’m glad that my parents saw fit to bring me to your grandmother.”  
  
I blanch at the thought that the butcher had performed what must have been delicate surgery.   
  
“Your mother must know how to perform the procedure too because there were some boys from the Seam who were circumcised too.”   
  
This information surprises me. Prior to my mother moving to the Seam, there was no healer. Greasy Sae performed the role of the midwife but if something happened, there was little that could be done and oftentimes mother and baby died. My mother turned that around with her presence. I never realized that she was also carrying on traditions normally reserved for Merchants.   
  
“How do you know?” I ask suddenly and Peeta blushes.  
  
“Well, uh, when we would change for physical education, you know … well, you couldn’t help but notice. It wasn’t just me either. My brothers talked about it. It’s not difficult to tell the difference either. Plus, the Seam boys never had the disfigurement that some of the Merchant boys had.”  
  
His comment causes me to wonder about who in the Seam that was circumcised and who among the Merchant boys was disfigured. I shake my head. “How did we get started on this anyway? Oh yes, Miss Moss allegedly saying that boys think about sex … a lot.”  
  
“They do. I’m serious. It’s hormones. Maybe it wasn’t Miss Moss but I remember someone telling me that.”  
  
“You’re very distracting,” I tell him, as he kisses my ear softly, his hot breath causing me to shiver involuntarily.  
  
“Mmmmm, go ahead and finish cleaning the rabbit. Don’t mind me,” he whispers as he continues nuzzling my neck.  
  
He hits that special spot just below my ear that seems to be directly connected to my center. “Peeta, stop for a minute,” I say without much conviction.  
  
“What? Did you say something?” He asks continuing his light kisses.  
  
“Just stop until I can finish this, and then we can kiss properly.”  
  
“Hmmm. Okay. I didn’t know there was proper and improper kissing, but fine, I’ll stop.” I look at him and his blues eyes are twinkling. He moves back to the counter not hiding the effect our kisses have had.   
  
I shake my head but can’t help the smile that spreads. “You’re something else you know.” He grins. “But you’re my something else.”  
  
“You know what? I like being your something else.”  
  
His words make the love I feel for him well within me. He is mine and I am his.  
  
“By the way,” he says, changing the subject, “I was thinking that some of our garden is ready to harvest. I was reading about canning and freezing produce for the winter the other day. What do you think?”  
  
I know absolutely nothing about storing up for the winter. All I know, is when we lived in the Seam, the winters meant that it was cold enough that the meat would keep longer. I shrug in response, “Whatever you think is best, Peeta. I’ve never really done either.” But he’s right, we have a garden of fresh vegetables already: carrots, three kinds of beans, peas, squash, pumpkin, corn, cucumbers, dill, green peppers, red peppers, potatoes, tomatoes, watermelon, cabbage, lettuce and onions. There were other vegetables too that we’ve mostly eaten as they grew.   
  
“Speaking of freezing, we should order a large freezer for the basement. The one we have is fairly small. We should go down to the train today and check to see how soon they can deliver it.”  
  
The trains run full of supplies for the rebuilding efforts in ever district. Only one car is set aside for delivery of personal items, and right now that includes necessities like beds and refrigerators for those that don’t have anything yet.   
  
I glance at the clock and nod. Thirty minutes until the train arrives. Going to the train is not my favorite activity but I’ll go for Peeta. I finish up with the rabbit and move to the sink to wash it off. “We’re putting it in the basement?”  
  
“Yes. Thom said it should be no problem since the basement door is directly across from the backdoor.” He and Thom have become good friends, something unheard of before the rebellion — Sesm and Merchant. Peeta consults Thom on little things, and Thom values Peeta’s judgement regarding the rebuilding effort.  
  
Neither Peeta nor I spend much time on the rebuilding project anymore because it’s mostly complete for now. Everyone has shelter for the coming winter, and there are even some spare apartments and houses.  Most everyone who claimed a house in Victor’s Village has moved out and there are once again nine empty houses. It seems that most people were uncomfortable living amongst trained killers.  
  
We have new stores and shops, and the Hob was completed two weeks ago. Sae has already settled in. There’s even a hotel for overnight travelers. Rebuilding took much less time that anyone anticipated. Paylor sent in a 3D printer that quickly spewed out foundations, whole walls, rafters and roofs. Buildings went up overnight — literally.  
  
The bakery is nearly complete, Peeta is just waiting on one last large oven to complete the kitchen, and one display case for the front. Once everything is installed, he will start his shifts. Hazel has agreed to help him, as has Rory. Delly’s husband, Chester, has also expressed an interest.  
  
The bakery should reopen within ten days or so, and I know Peeta is both anxious and concerned. Baking is not just a hobby for him. It’s in his blood. Still, I know it will be difficult. The family bakery would have gone to Rusk. As the youngest son, Peeta would not have inherited anything. Without the Hunger Games victory, Peeta would likely have had to marry a girl inline to inherit her family business or work in the mines. I can’t picture Peeta with coal dust under his fingernails. So, opening the bakery will bring with it the ghosts of the past.  
  
Our museum commemorating all the lives lost as a result of the Capitol is in the planning stages, and we’re also considering a separate museum dedicated to the mines. There are plans to add a factory next summer for the production of medicine.  
  
It doesn’t resemble the old district anymore, which actually helps the healing process. We walk down streets no longer pitted by carts but rather smooth and easy to traverse. The mounds of rubble from the destroyed homes and business were hauled away and some say buried between here and District 11.  
  
There’s a sharp beeping in the living room which forces me from my reverie. The beeping signifies a national broadcast — something of interest to the entire nation. It’s no longer mandatory viewing, yet we always feel compelled to watch it. I glance toward Peeta, who is already making his way across to the living room. I follow behind and take a seat next to him on the small couch. We sit tensely.  
  
The television auto-senses our presence and displays the picture. It’s a remnant leftover from the days of mandatory viewing, when the televisions were used a device to track the movements of residents. It’s one thing that the new government has vowed to remove and insists they no longer use .  
  
An announcement appears on screen in subdued colors: “Stay tuned for an important announcement from our president.” Peeta tenses beside me. The president doesn’t often approach the nation in unscheduled news flashes.  
  
Momentarily, the battle-worn face of President Paylor appears onscreen, “Good day all of United Districts of North America.” It’s the temporary name assigned by the newly elected congress. All districts are currently offering input as to the permanent name.   
  
“Late last night, Gregor Mathias, chief investigator of the Committee for War Crimes Investigation, visited to inform me the committee had concluded their task. A one hundred thirty page summary was presented and Gregor took time to highlight the findings. I then spent the rest of the night reading the report, and preparing executive orders which are already in the process of being carried out.”  
  
Peeta looks at me with concern. Executive orders were used often by Snow during his reign. “I assure you all, this was a necessary step to insure that some of the individuals would not flee justice.” She pauses and looks directly into the camera, “This government will not abuse the power entrusted to us.”  
  
I believe her. She knows the oppression and fear of the Capitol.   
  
“I will begin with several of the atrocities allegedly carried out by Dictator Coriolanus Snow. The Committee found ample evidence that Snow alone ordered the fire bombing of former District 12. There is further evidence that he struck without warning with intention of razing the entire district leaving no survivors. A small group of less than ten percent did survive, however, and provided evidence to the committee.”  
  
That’s not really news though, but the photos that follow show me walking among the ruins — a subliminal message to everyone the reason behind the destruction.   
  
“Next, the committee investigated allegations that Snow purposely targeted a hospital in former District 8. This also is fact and based on recorded conversations, a direct retaliation for the presence of the Mockingjay Katniss Everdeen, in the district.” Again, there’s a direct link to me, and I feel the frown overtake my face. Peeta reaches for my hand in a show of solidarity.  
  
“While there are numerous allegations in this document regarding Snow, I will speak to just one more. The remaining allegations can be explored in depth online as the full report and supporting evidence totaling more the three thousand pages will be released publicly immediately at the end of this broadcast. The final allegation against Snow that I want to relay to you involves the systematic torturing of Hunger Games victors, Johanna Mason and Peeta Mellark.”  
  
Peeta leans forward and stares directly into the screen. “First, it was uncovered that the plan to torture Mason and Mellark was hatched immediately upon their rescue from the arena. Snow ordered the pair broken to extract any information related to the rebels’ plot. It soon became apparent that, while Mason knew some details, Mellark new nothing. Snow’s plan than took a devious turn.  
  
“His plan was to turn Mellark into the ultimate weapon against the Mockingjay by altering his memories of her using the venom of tracker jackers. Over the duration of the time Mellark was in captivity, he endured an onslaught of physical, emotional and psychological torture, coupled with the venom. Several doctors commented on the detailed notes that were kept and indicated that Mellark is lucky to have survived this at  all.”  
  
I watch the emotions flit across Peeta’s face as he hears this. It’s really nothing new but the fact that it is being laid bare for all the nation to know must be difficult to process. I squeeze his hand and he tenses momentarily before he gently squeezes back.  
  
We’ve missed some of the broadcast, but Paylor’s next words bring us back. “During a time of war, it’s sometimes difficult to determine the difference between following orders and going above and beyond the call of duty. Did the Colonel who eventually ordered the pilots to bomb the hospital merely carry out his orders? Did the doctor who carried out the torture on Peeta Mellark and Johanna Mason do so only because he was ordered to do so. In each case we must examine the zealousness of those carrying out the task.”  
  
I wonder what that means. Zealousness.  
  
“The Rebels’ actions were also examined. Just because we were victors does not mean that we were without potentially criminal behavior. Going above and beyond the call of duty. The Committee was tasked with investigating the taking of the so-called Nut in District 2, as well as the final bombing in the Capitol.  
  
“In both instances, the Committee agreed that the actions were crude and ruthless, and in the case of the lost children in the Capitol, criminal. There’s no clear documentation regarding the formulation of the plan to take the Nut. It is assumed that, since Colonel Fabius Boggs was the highest ranking officer onsite, the responsibility would lie with him.”  
  
I think back to that day and remember the role that Gale played. Nineteen years old and already the mastermind of so much destruction. Yet Boggs ultimately decided to go with the plan to destroy the entrance to the cave.   
  
“It has already been established that the bomb that killed the children in the Capitol, as well as a dozen aid workers from former District 13, was the brainchild of former victor, Beetee Latier and Gale Hawthorne. Documentation shows that the bomb had been marked as “prototype,” which means a bomb had been developed but not tested.  
  
“There is no concrete evidence to link Latier and Hawthorne to the plans to drop it that day on City Centre. It is believed that Coin was solely responsible for the decision to drop the bomb that day.”  
  
She takes a deep breath and looks down at her notes.  
  
“All that being said, we cannot try either Coin or Snow in absentia. Boggs is dead and so is Colonel Kritcher who ordered the pilots to bomb the hospital. However, this morning, by executive order, warrants were issued for the arrests of doctors Philbert Jacobi, Randall Marx, Ashella Colby, … .”  
  
Her list continues. With each name, a photo flashes across the screen. Philbert Jacobi’s photo is pure evil, in my opinion. Blue skin, the exact shade of the inspector who was here not long ago. Light green eyes, a sculpted beard, pointed ears. He obviously spent years transitioning to this look.   
  
“It is believed that these individuals relished their job of torturing people and had a long history of it. They will be brought to justice.”  
  
“Are you okay?” I ask Peeta. His face is flushed, and his hands are working together as if tying invisible knots.  
  
“Yeah, I’m … I’m just … I thought Jacobi was dead. They … uh … they told me he was dead.”  
  
I put my arms around him and draw him close. “We’ll get through this, Peeta.” He nods as he lays his head back.  
  
Paylor continues to speak, but it’s all meaningless background chatter as I comfort Peeta. Then, without prelude, Paylor switches gears. “In other matters, there’s been a lot of rumors regarding one last Hunger Games. On the day she was assassinated, Coin gathered the remaining seven victors to decide whether one last games would be held featuring children from the Capitol. The victors voted in favor of these games.”  
  
I sit up abruptly and even Peeta snaps out of his stupor to watch intently. “After much consideration, and weighing all sides, my advisors and I have decided to allow this last Hunger Games as a tribute to the eighteen hundred youngsters that were forced to participate through seventy-four games.”  
  
Peeta’s head drops to his hands as his fingers run through his hair. I too, am shocked. I had completely forgotten about the vote that day so long ago.  
  
“Plutarch Heavensbee will be preparing an arena, and the date will be announced shortly. The remaining victors will serve as mentors. …”


	19. Darkest Before the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I wanted to get it out because the next few are going to be fairly action-packed. Hunger Games characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

A week passes and we remain in a fog. I don’t hunt. Peeta doesn’t bake. We barely sleep. If the other victors are as surprised with the announcement as we are, we don’t hear.  
  
We don’t see Haymitch for the duration of that week, and neither of us is interested in confronting him. It’s better that way.   
  
Peeta is tense and nervous. He barely speaks, and I fear an oncoming episode but somehow he manages to remain grounded in the present.  
  
My mind catapults through a thousand thoughts. The realization that a “no” vote all those months ago would have been the easiest answer plagues my waking thoughts, and haunts my dreams. The new stars of the my nightmares are the Capitol children who will die in this final rendition of the games.  
  
Peeta was right. He voted no, and fought against them in spite of being tortured by Snow. He was able to separate his personal anger from the innocent children. Still, there’s no answer.   
  
At the heart of the matter for me is the realization that Prim would be so angry with my initial reaction to the proposed games, and the fact that I did it in her memory. What the hell was I thinking?  
  
Still, Peeta says nothing. He doesn’t condemn me nor does he attempt to comfort me. We live as siblings sharing the same bed. Chaste kisses. His strong arms offer me comfort when I awake thrashing from a nightmare. But there is no intimacy.  
  
We go to bed early. The sleep deprivation is taking its toll. He kisses the top of my head but makes no move to take it further, and I can’t blame him. Lovemaking is the last thing on my mind. I lay for hours though before I fall into a restless sleep.   
  
I jolt awake a few hours later, the moon is huge in the window, and suddenly I have an answer. Or a plan. I have something that just might work. “Peeta!” I nearly shout as my jumbled thoughts take form, he jumps and sits up, near panic evident in his eyes.  
  
“What? Are you okay?” I know I’m smiling, and given the circumstances, I know he must think I’m losing my mind.  
  
“I know what we have to do. If the victors started this, which we didn’t but they think we did, then we can stop it.” He looks confused. “Peeta, I wasn’t thinking right when we voted last time, I couldn’t think of anything but Prim, and she would hate me for voting yes. We need to get together, and we need to vote again. Then we need to get to Paylor. We can’t have another games.”  
  
“You mean you would vote no in another vote?” Peeta sounds a bit confused, but the worry seems to be draining from his face.   
  
“Yes! I mean, Peeta, I don’t know why they are pursuing this since Coin is dead, but we put it in motion, or I did — but I don’t want it. I’m not sure I ever did. I just wanted vengeance for Prim, and she would have hated another round of the games in her honor. Remember what you said about living our lives to honor those who lost their lives?” He nods slowly. “Well, we need to start now. We need to bring all the victors here, and we need to vote again, and then we need to make new plans.”  
  
Fire. I feel a fire burning in me and it’s catching because Peeta’s eyes are dancing. “What if we propose destroying all the old arenas. Tear them down, commemorate those who died. Wouldn’t that make good television if that’s all they’re worried about?”  
  
We stay up the rest of the night planning, and early in the morning begin placing calls. I reach out to Johanna first.   
  
The phone rings several times, and finally she answers, “Jo?”  
  
“Brainless?” I roll my eyes at the familiar nickname. “So you ready for the big shebang?”  
  
“Jo, can you come here? To Twelve?”  
  
“What for?” Suspicion laces her voice.   
  
“We want to host all the victors here before we have to report to the Capitol?”  
  
“What’s up?” Jo questions again.  
  
“Just come, please?”  
  
After several minutes of back and forth, she agrees to come the following week.  
  
Peeta contacts Enobaria who takes a good while to convince, and BeeTee, who’s smart enough to know that something positive is in the works, agrees immediately. At least we hope it’s positive.  
  
Annie is the last one that we contact, and Peeta and I are on the phone together when a familiar voice answers the phone. “Mom?” I question as I quickly look at the number I dialed to confirm it’s Annie’s.  
  
“Katniss? What’s wrong, dear?”  
  
“Why are you answering Annie’s phone?” I volley back.  
  
“She’s … ill.” The hesitation in her voice speaks volumes. I wait for an explanation, but already know the reason behind the illness. Finally, Mom speaks once more. “Ever since the announcement, she’s barely moved from bed.”  
  
“Let me speak to her,” I say, a sense of confidence edging into my voice. Mom hesitates. “Put it on speaker or put it next to her, I need to talk to her. It’s important.”  
  
The urgency in my voice wins her over, and I hear a soft, “Annie, dear, it’s Katniss. She needs to talk to you. Go ahead, Katniss.”  
  
“Annie. I screwed up last fall. We can’t have another games and we won’t. But I need you to be strong and come to District 12. We are going to fix this, okay?”  
  
No response. Not even sure I expected one.  
  
“We’ll be there. One way or another.” It’s Mom’s voice, and I nod before remembering to speak out loud. We share a few cursory words before disconnecting.  
  
“Okay,” I say turning to Peeta. “What now?”  
  
“I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a good long rest, and maybe … .” He brings his arms around me and pulls me close. “I love you, Katniss. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I … .”  
  
But I cut him off, “It’s been both of us. I love you too, Peeta.” He smiles shyly as he pulls me even closer, his eyes boring into mine. Suddenly his lips are on mine, and we’re kissing like we haven’t seen one another in months.   
  
His hands find the buttons on my shirt, and he’s making swift work of it, when suddenly we hear the back door slam and Haymitch grumbling to himself.  
  
I turn away quickly as my fingers fumble with the buttons. Peeta stands awkwardly, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.  
  
“Boy? Sweetheart? Where the hell are you? I know you’re up to something. I … ,” his voice trails off. “Oh. Can’t you two ever give it a rest?” He turns back toward the kitchen and I’m more than half tempted to finish what we started.  
  
“Later?” Peeta’s eyes are hopeful and I nod quickly. I’ve missed him so much these past days.  
  
After we’re presentable, we make our way to the kitchen. Haymitch leans against the counter, a bottle in one hand but surprisingly sober and well kept. Without any preliminaries, Haymitch narrows his eyes and asks, “What are you two up to? I just got a call from Johanna, and she says that you’re organizing some kind of meeting.”  
  
Thankfully, it’s Peeta who answers because suddenly my blood is boiling. Haymitch sounds pissed. “We think that all the victors should meet before going to the Capitol.” Peeta answers without giving away our plans. “You’re invited, by the way.” He adds it almost as an after thought, and Haymitch snorts.  
  
“We’ll see, Boy. I’m not much into getting blindsided.”  
  
It’s Peeta’s turn to snort, “I know a thing or two about being blindsided, Haymitch. Trust me, this is nothing of the kind.”  
  
Haymitch stares at Peeta who’s making his way across to the counter and pulling down his favorite mixing bowl — another sign that things are returning to normal.  
  
Silence reigns for several minutes and the only sounds are those of Peeta’s baking. Eventually, Haymitch swings his eyes in my direction, obviously choosing me as the weak one who will divulge the plan. A lifetime ago, his intense stare would have made me squirm, but today I meet his eyes. If this plan has any hope of working, we need to bring it to all the victors at once. If it leaks out slowly, Enobaria and Johanna may not even show up, and for this to work, it has to be unanimous.  
  
Haymitch finally relents and upends his bottle taking several deep swallows. “What the hell do I care anyway? Huh? New administration, same dirty bag of tricks. Hope you two are up for it!”  
  
“Haymitch, we need to work together. Please come next Friday afternoon. Everyone will be here.”  
  
“Even Annie? You know she’s been bedridden since the announcement.”  
  
“Even Annie,” I say with determination, and he grunts in acknowledgement.   
  
“Whatever this is, it better be damn good because Plutarch is doing this to boost ratings int he district.”  
  
I roll my eyes in response. Always about the ratings, and I could care less.  
  
“Oh, he’ll get his ratings. I guarantee it,” Peeta interjects, a slight smile on his face. “Now, do you want to stay for breakfast, Haymitch?”  
  
Haymitch considers the offer and finally sits at the table. If he’s hoping for additional information, he’s sorely disappointed. We eat in comparative silence. It’s been days since I enjoyed eating, and Peeta’s managed to put together a small feast.  
  
Periodically, Haymitch attempts to steer conversation in the direction of our planned meeting, but Peeta easily deflects. Instead, Peeta focusses on sleeping arrangements for the various victors. District 12 has a hotel now, but it is completely occupied by people who are working on the rebuilding effort.   
  
After much grumbling and complaining, Haymitch agrees to hire Hazelle to clean his house, and he will host Enobaria and Beetee. Annie and baby Flynn will stay at Peeta’s old home, and Johanna can stay with us.  
  
“You know, this is a runaway train. Nothing is going to derail it. No matter what,” Haymitch states bitterly. I nearly retaliate, but Peeta is quick to grab my hand, and I bite back the words on my tongue.  
  
Instead, Peeta says quietly. “Who said we’re going to derail it?”  
  
Haymitch scrutinizes Peeta before giving an over-exaggerated shrug. “Whatever! Just letting you know.” Peeta smiles in return, and with that Haymitch pushes back from the table, and heads for the door. “Thanks for the breakfast. By the way, hope you two are taking precautions. I don’t think anyone is ready for the little monsters you would create.” His eyes sweep to me. It’s his last attempt to get to get me riled into an argument where I might say too much. I let his comment stand, as Peeta tightens his hold on my fingers.   
  
It’s a bit of a standoff. One that I want to win, and finally after a minute or so, Haymitch leaves.   
  
Peeta looks at me, a smile spreading across his face. He arches his eyebrows. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. Haymitch may be the toughest to convince.” I nod in agreement. “We have to have everything in place. All our ducks in a row, so to speak.”  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
“So, this has to come from you, from speaking with the victors to meeting with Paylor. It’s got to be you.”  
  
I’m about to argue, but then I realize, it’s true. I effectively put another games in motion with my “yes” vote, and now I need to be the one to set the brakes.  
  
“Will you help me?” My voice is small.  
  
“Always. Katniss, no matter what, we’re a team, and a damn formidable one!” He grins as he wraps his arms around me. “We’ll spend the next few days prepping. We can even role play if you want. I’ll start with Johanna.” He smiles broadly as he steps backward and strips off his shirt.  
  



	20. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to believe that it's been just two days shy of a year since my last update. Frankly, I considered pulling this work ... . I would like to say that opinions will differ as to the meaning and context of certain parts of Suzanne Collins original books; however, this is my take on it. Right or wrong, good or bad. 
> 
> Last fall, as I watching "Mockingjay: Part 2" I was struck by how closely a pivotal scene matched my interpretation. I know that not everyone will agree with my interpretation but here's a challenge ... If you prefer another ending, then perhaps you should write one.
> 
> Sorry for this soliloquy. Hope you enjoy. As always, The Hunger Games characters are original to Suzanne Collins.

“Peeta! I bagged two pheasants this morning. Fairly good sized. I’ll get them plucked and you can … ,” my voice trails off as I realize we are not alone. Sitting around the table with Peeta, are the remaining five victors.  
  
Johanna sits with a smirk on her face, one eyebrow arched. Beetee smiles warmly. Annie looks friendly but wary. Enobaria stares at me like I grew a second head, and Haymitch laughs outright.   
  
I reach up quickly and try to tuck in the few strands of hair that escaped, knowing full well that I must be a sight. Often times, my clothing is streaked with blood. I risk a glance at my hands and see they are indeed covered in blood and dirt.  
  
“Brainless! You are a sight for … well, you are just a sight!”  
  
“Good morning,” I say to no one and everyone. “We … I … thought the train was set to arrive at four.” I look to Peeta for confirmation and he nods, before jumping up and striding over to me.  
  
“Pheasants? Perfect,” he says smoothly, as he kisses me lightly on the cheek and relieves me of the rucksack.   
  
“I apologize Katniss,” Beetee intones quietly, “I’m afraid our early arrival is my fault. When you called about a meeting, I thought that it might be best to use my government clout to secure a train rather than ride together on a public one where we would surely attract attention.”  
  
I simply nod because his logic makes sense. It always has made sense and it always will, I expect. But still, I find myself unable to answer him directly, the words dying in my throat. He averts his eyes quickly and I know that at some point we will have to address all the recent reports about the final day of the war.   
  
“I need to … get cleaned up. Please excuse me.” I turn abruptly and head toward the stairs. As much as we have been anticipating this meeting, the fact that it’s been bumped up a few hours has rattled me.   
  
I push my way into our bedroom and leave a trail of clothes on my way to the shower. My pulse is racing and for the first time my confidence in the plan waivers. I turn the water on and immediately plunge in, only to duck out quickly to prevent being scalded.  
  
“Damn,” I curse quietly, as I suck in a few deep breaths.   
  
His arms reach around me quietly drawing me back and I startle. “When did you get so damn quiet, Mellark?”  
  
Peeta chuckles quietly. “Aided by the fact that you seemed lost in thought, I would imagine. Are you okay?”  
  
I nod and lean back. “Do we have time for … ?”  
  
Again he chuckles. “Don’t I wish! You were up even before me this morning, otherwise I had hoped to … relieve some tension.” His lips brush my ear and I feel the familiar tug at my center but he draws back. “You shower and take your time. I’ll keep them entertained.”  
  
“Have you told him the plan?”  
  
“No ma’am,” he replies quickly, a crooked grin on his face. “This is all up to you. I am but your humble servant.”  
  
“Stop!” I say, laughing. “You are equally part of this.” But he shakes his head.  
  
“We’ll be waiting,” Peeta pulls away and heads for the door. “But … umm, Katniss? I wouldn’t mind taking you up on your earlier offer a little later.” He winks and smiles, and I consider making the group downstairs wait a little while longer for him to reappear. But he’s already out the door.  
  
I sigh and readjust the water temperature before stepping back under the stream. For the next twenty minutes, I stand under the water, thinking through the various aspects of the plan.   
  
We’ve been busy ever since we contacted the victors. We spent days researching the seventy-three Hunger Games that preceded us, only to discover that aside from the winners it was nearly impossible to find the names of all participants. Apparently, the Capitol was not interested in losers. Some of the participants were identified only by district and hair color and we had to contact the districts directly for a name.  
  
Some of the arenas were popular vacation destinations with final battle locations being in demand. It wasn’t surprising to find out that the site of the 74th Annual Hunger Games was by far the most popular. Of course, the cave was the top destination point which must have rankled Snow.  
  
The past few days we’ve been preparing for our guests. We spent a day gathering berries; and yesterday, Peeta baked breads from all districts. Late afternoon, I entered the kitchen and was immediately assaulted by the pungent odor of District 4 bread and saw the small greenish loaves cooling on the table.  
  
It was as if someone had grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back to the beach. I could see Finnick so clearly, standing on the beach holding the greenish loaf in his hand, staring at it as if it was the most precious thing on earth. I could feel the sand under my feet and the stickiness of the salve that Haymitch sent to relieve the itching.  
  
Just as suddenly, I was back in our kitchen, lying on the floor, gasping for breath with Peeta hovering over me. It took several minutes and a glass of water administered slowly to control my breathing and wildly beating heart. Peeta apologized profusely but it was not his fault.  
  
It’s a hard fact of life, and one that I may never understand, but the memories are so real, so vivid, that I sometimes feel like I’m there.   
  
I shake my head slightly bringing me back to the present. Back to the streaming water and the victors gathered around the table downstairs. I finish my shower quickly and step out, grabbing the towel closest to me. It’s Peeta’s and his scent lingers. I hold it to my nose and breathe deeply, the scent as calming as if he were standing right there.  
  
Finally I dress and braid my hair. A quick glance in the mirror reveals the the 18-year-old with the weight of the world on her shoulders. If I can’t convince them, across the board, that our plan is a solid alternative, the Hunger Games will be granted a last hurrah. But who’s to say it will end there.  
  
I head downstairs, and all eyes turn toward me as my foot hits the landing, and I move across the entryway to the dining room. I breathe deeply before taking my seat at the head of the table. Peeta is to my immediate right and Haymitch is to my left. No doubt Peeta put some thought into the seating arrangement.  
  
“Good morning,” I say briskly, “Sorry about earlier, but your arrival caught me off guard.”  
  
“Took a helluva long time upstairs, Brainless. If Peeta weren’t sitting right here, I would think you two were fucking. But … maybe you’ve discovered the joys of self pleasuring.” Johanna cackles at her own joke.  
  
She’s trying to throw me off. Unsettle me. But I choose to ignore her. “We asked you to come here because of the recent announcement regarding the proposed Hunger Games.” I have rehearsed this in my head dozens of times. Johanna’s head comes up sharply at my choice of words. Enobaria narrows her eyes, but I focus on Beetee and Annie, both of whom sit forward willing my next words to be positive.  
  
“Last fall … ,” I start, but my words trail off. “I think it’s fair to say,” I start again, “that many things happened close on the heals of one another. The Quell, the Rebellion, the aftermath. When Coin proposed another Hunger Games, she made it seem like an either or, but it was not. That way of thinking was the Capitol’s way of thinking for years — that punishment had to be exacted on the people rather than the perpetrators.   
  
“We all lived in the districts. Was it fair to make the children pay for things that were clearly out of their control? By that same token, was it fair to consider exterminating the citizens of the Capitol … .”  
  
“Damn right it was,” Johanna counters eyes blazing. “If we would have lost, they would not have hesitated to burn our districts around our ears!”   
  
“Agreed,” Enobaria says, a gruesome smile splitting her otherwise beautiful face.  
  
“We are not the Capitol. We are better than that. We have the upper hand now but we must use it with caution, or we will be fighting the rebellion of the former Capitolites in a few years. It’s time to show what true leaders are and move beyond the past. We can’t forget the lessons we learned … .”  
  
“Fuck you! You weren’t raped and sodomized by filthy old men whose dicks were nearly falling off from disease,” Johanna says, her nostrils flaring. “You know what lessons I learned at the hands of the Capitol. I learned to suck a dick without gagging, and swallow nasty cum, and … .”  
  
“Johanna, please,” Annie says, “Katniss has a point, you know, if you were listening. If we must exact revenge, then it must be on the perpetrators not the innocent. Finnick kept a book of all the women … and men … who paid for his services, and what they asked him to do. Let’s exact revenge on the people who ran the prostitution side of the Hunger Games. Let’s exact revenge on those who paid for our services. But keep in mind, it was never children.”  
  
Johanna hesitates for a moment, her eyes soften just a bit. “I agree with Annie,” Peeta asserts. “Let’s make those who did the crimes pay for the crimes. Wherever they may lead, but let’s not focus the retribution on the children. I don’t care what there parents did, they don’t deserve to die because of it.”  
  
“I hear Dr. Jacobi has a 12-year-old,” Johanna interjects.  
  
Peeta doesn’t hesitate, “Not even Dr. Jacobi’s child. We need to make this world a better place, and to do so means, in my eyes, the cessation of punishing the innocent.”  
  
The argument is back and forth for several minutes with Johanna and Enobaria leading the charge to have the Games, and Peeta, Annie, Beetee and me arguing against. Haymitch sits strangely silent.   
  
Beetee is eloquent quoting history and statistics. He was never a prostitute. His talents were used elsewhere. Annie is impassioned, and focusses on little Flynn. If the tide changes and the Capitol were to rebel, she would not want the certain fate of baby Flynn being reaped.   
  
Peeta’s arguments are well thought out and persuasive. Mine, unfortunately, are all over the board, but are no less intense.   
  
The argument escalates to yelling, and Johanna and Enobaria are both standing, threatening to leave the meeting when Haymitch finally speaks, his voice low and quiet. “Jo, En, are you really that anxious to look into the face of a kid who is counting on you and know they will likely be dead in twenty-four hours?” His comment silences everyone.  
  
“The worst part is, I doubt if you two, or even I, would be giving the best advice to these children. That means that even more than those kids from our districts who died in the games, the blood of the Capitol children is going to be on our hands.” Haymitch draws in a breath and exhales slowly.   
  
“Forty-six.” He closes his eyes, and rubs them roughly with his hand, brushing away a tear. “Forty-six children meet me in my dreams every fucking time I close my eyes, and frankly, I don’t need to add to that list. I vote ‘no.’”  
  
“I do as well,” Beetee says quickly.  
  
“Me too,” Annie says quietly.  
  
“No for me,” Peeta interjects quickly.  
  
“No,” I say simply.  
  
Jo and Enobaria look around the room, each seeming set on their “yes” vote until Jo lowers her chin. “No, I vote no. I know you all think I’m a blood thirsty monster, but I wanted those Capitol parents to suffer the same way my parents and those of each of us suffered when we went into the games, but you’re right, the children will pay the ultimate price. Then what? We turn the victor into a prostitute. That’s not a life I would wish on anyone. So, no.”  
  
Enobaria shakes her head slightly, “So then what? How do they pay? What’s your plan?”  
  
“I don’t know how ‘they’ pay. But I think we blow up the arenas starting with the first. We read the names of those who died. Read the name of the victor. Blow it up and place a memorial stone to remember those who died,” I suggest quickly. “We could do it in place of the games. Televise it so all of the country can see. We could blow up several a day and have the victors stationed at the various arenas to read the names and dedicate the memorial. We can divide them up but it would be nice if you could remember the ones with victors from your District.”  
  
“District 2 had sixteen winners,” Enobaria states. “District 1 had fourteen.”  
  
Even though we researched the entire Games, I’m flabbergasted to hear Enobaria voice the fact that over one-third of the victors came from these two districts.  
  
“District 3 had nine,” Beetee comments.   
  
“District 4 had eleven victors,” Annie says quietly.  
  
My breath catches as I realize that the first four districts accounted for two-thirds of the victors.  
  
Beetee speaks again, “District 5 had three victors. District 6 had three. Jo?”  
  
“District 7 had four victors.”  
  
“Districts 8 through 11 each had three, and of course, District 12 had three, from two games,” Haymitch adds.  
  
“The odds were certainly not in our favor,” Jo laughs, looking around the table. The math is simple eight districts produced one-third of the victors collectively.  
  
“It’s simply a matter of which districts provided the most physically appealing children,” Enobaria states matter-of-factly with a dismissive wave of her hand.  
  
“Bitch,” said Jo, bitterly.  
  
“Ladies,” Haymitch says, a sardonic grin on his face. The two turn to him. “Let’s take a different approach, shall we? You two, he nods in the direction of Peeta and Katniss, are going to be the big draw no matter what, so I would suggest we get you two front and center in as many of these as possible. Maybe we all attend the first. Take our own arenas. Damn if I don’t want to press the button on that hell hole. Then we divide up the rest with a slight edge to you two.”  
  
I open my mouth to protest, but I see Peeta nod grimly. “I want to add that I think we need to dedicate monuments to all those who died during the reign of Snow in each district. Maybe a few monuments. One to the rebels, and one to those who died because of Snow’s injustice.” Everyone nods in agreement.  
  
“I have another proposal,” Enobaria says, “Perhaps the punishment for all those who appear on the list that Paylor mentioned should be to be placed in the arena to fight for his or her own life. I think most of those mentioned are guilty of crimes for which death is a very real possibility in terms of punishment.”  
  
Her proposal silences us all as we consider this twist but it’s Peeta who finally speaks. “I want Dr. Jacobi to be held accountable. I want a trial and a fair judgement. The Hunger Games proved nothing. Sometimes luck helped you survive. Sometimes skill. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t want to watch another version of the Games, no matter the participants. I want everyone. EVERYONE,” Peeta emphasizes, “to know that we are different. DIFFERENT, from our predecessors. We will be fair. We will be just, and no matter the outcome, justice will prevail.”   
  
His speech comes to an end with Annie and Beetee nodding solemnly. Jo and Enobaria shift uneasily, but Haymitch stands, and places a hand on Peeta’s shoulder. “Well said. You’re right. We are different from Snow and his henchmen. Vote?”  
  
“I vote no to this and all future Hunger Games,” I say as boldly as possible.  
  
“No as well,” Peeta says before gripping my hand tightly. He can sense the sea change.  
  
“I vote no,” Beetee baritone chimes in.  
  
“No,” Annie adds simply.  
  
“No for me,” Haymitch says distinctly.  
  
Jo stares across at me, while Enobaria focusses on the wall above Beetee’s head. Finally Jo relents, “Against my better judgement because no one ever cut me slack, no.”  
  
Enobaria is the lone holdout. Of all the remaining victors, I know the least of her but I can still make out the storm that rages within. Perhaps I’ve been wrong about her. No doubt she too suffered at the hands of the Capitol. She breathes deeply, and finally focusses on Haymitch, “I abstain.”   
  
“Bullshit,” Johanna cries. “You can’t. Yes or no. Those are the choices. None of the abstain bullshit.”  
  
Enobaria’s eyes flash, and for a moment I wonder if there will be blows. “Fuck you, Johanna! I vote no then simply because my ‘yes’ vote won’t change the outcome. But I want the people in the Capitol to understand that it is at our mercy that their children are spared.”  
  
Haymitch offers a small nod. “I think that’s fair. None of us suggested another Hunger Games in the first place, but we can certainly let the people know that we called for an end.”  
  
“This is only the first hurdle,” Johanna announces, a tiny smirk on her face. “You still have to convince Plutarch and Paylor to end the games, and I can guarantee Plutarch is jerking off every day to dreams of his new arena.”  
  
A moment ago I was so relieved, but now a nervous panic sets in that threatens to undo me. What if we can’t convince Plutarch and Paylor to halt this last version of the Hunger Games?  
  
“Paylor is no Coin,” Peeta replies diplomatically. “She probably is following through with this only because she believes that the directive came from someone other than Coin. She will listen to reason.” He speaks with such conviction that the other victors nod in agreement.  
  
“And Plutarch?” Haymitch questions.  
  
‘He owes us,” I say quickly, and again, heads nod.   
  
“Well, it seems you two are on top of this, so I’ll just be heading back … ,” Haymitch starts.  
  
“No,” I say. “You are going to join us in the planning, Haymitch.”  
  
He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “You don’t need me, Katniss. You’ve grown up. Both of you.” He glances at Peeta. “You’ve done good!”  
  
“Haymitch, we need everyone. Ideas. Input,” Peeta asserts quickly. “We are a team. We need to approach this completely united.”  
  
Haymitch stays.   
  
As the debate ensues, my mind drift to Prim. Dear, sweet, beautiful Prim. I promise to live well for you.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few chapters left, along with my own epilogue. Thanks for reading.


	21. Unexpected Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the "Hunger Games" characters and settings are the property of Suzanne Collins. Thanks for reading.

The others eventually disperse to their temporary homes. Beetee and Annie are staying in Peeta’s old home, while Haymitch has opened his doors to Enobaria and Johanna. Surprisingly, though Johanna dismisses his offer, and instead says she will find accommodations on her own.   
  
Peeta reminds them that supper will be at six, and he expects everyone to return. “Supper,” Enboria scoffs lightly. “Most people call it dinner.” But it’s said without malice, so we all laugh. District 12 will always remain just a little backward I imagine.  
  
Once they’ve left, Peeta and I fall into an easy routine to prepare the meal. We spend time in the garden selecting the fresh produce. Green beans, peppers, lemon squash, carrots, celery, asparagus and broccoli are harvested and placed in the basket.  
  
We stand side by side preparing the fresh vegetables when we hear a quiet knock on the front door.   
  
"It's open!" Peeta calls out, and in strides Johanna.   
  
"Hey, you two! I need details, folks."  
  
I laugh. "What kind of details, Jo?"  
  
"Oh, you know, the usual. How many times a day do you hit the sheets? Is he hung like horse, Katniss? Is she as noisy as Haymitch suggested, or is the old man just jealous of the young stud getting some?"  
  
By the time she comes up for air, Peeta and I are both standing with crimson cheeks. Peeta recovers first, "Jo, there are some things meant to be kept private; however, I will say one thing — reality, Jo, is so much better than fantasy."  
  
The laugh that bursts forth from Jo echoes through the house. "Well, sexy boy, that's good to know. You are doing something right, then!"   
  
"I don't expect he could do much wrong there, Jo." It surprises Peeta, who turns to me with a huge grin. Everyone laughs.  
  
"Katniss, can I speak to you in private?" Her request takes me by surprise, but I nod my head and lead her to the back porch.  
  
We stand looking toward the edge of the forest which is only about fifty yards away. The old fence is still in tact there. Our garden is off to the side, rich and green, with so much promise. Peeta and I are proud of this accomplishment. Next year, Peeta wants to try tame strawberries. He also ordered some apple trees, that we will plant this fall.  
  
"Are you happy?"  
  
The question takes me by surprise. Happy is not a term I generally apply to myself because it seems a dishonor to those who did not make it. Yet, really, I am and I know it. I'm happy and content, and maybe Peeta is right, none of those that we were close to would want our mourning to go on forever.  
  
"Yes." My answer is simple, and a smile accompanies it.  
  
"You look happy." Jo agrees. "Peeta makes you happy?"  
  
"Very. I can't imagine ever being with anyone else." Again, the statement is simple, direct. This time, Jo swings her head toward me and I see her scrutinize me.  
  
"What if Gale were here? Would you still be torn?"  
  
Her words cut me like a knife, and I gasp, not because there's residual feelings for Gale, but because I once was "torn." "Gale and I were never meant to be. I've apologized to Peeta over and over for ever having made my friendship with Gale an issue."  
  
Jo is silent for several seconds, "What if he were here now? Would you change your mind?"  
  
I'm getting angry now. "You mean leave Peeta for Gale. Never, Jo. My choice, my ONLY choice, is Peeta."  
  
But Jo continues to press, "Is it because of what happened to Prim?"  
  
Her question surprises me, "No, Jo. Not because of Prim. I love Gale, or loved him as a friend. For years I regarded him as my best friend, and loyalty got in the way of my true feelings for Peeta. I was too stupid, or naive, to realize that I was 'in love' with Peeta. Before we even made love the first time, I knew I was in love with him, but after, I knew there could never have been anyone for me but Peeta."  
  
She nods, as if satisfied. "Gale is back here now."  
  
I look at her quickly in surprise, and wonder how she knows this. But then I realize that the question about Prim suggests a deeper, more intimate knowledge of the situation. I've only shared my concerns with Peeta regarding Prim. "Are you and he together?"  
  
It's Jo's turn to be surprised, but she covers it as best as she can. "Well, that's the big question I guess." Her eyes are distant, a little sad. "I never meant for it to happen." She looks guilty.   
  
"Jo, don't worry about it. Really. If you are happy together, that's what matters."  
  
She laughs, but there's a bitter quality about it. "Were you and Gale ever …?" But she doesn't finish it. I wait, but know the implications.  
  
Finally, "Intimate? Lovers, Jo?" She nods. "No. We kissed five or six times. The last time was in District 2 when he told me it was like kissing a drunk girl. But we never did anything beyond that."  
  
"Gale never said outright but kind of intimated that you two were lovers." The look on my face makes Jo laugh. "Should have known though. I just figured you were terrible at breaking him in as a lover. Maybe he just didn't want to seem inexperienced. Oh he knew things. Touching and stuff, but the actual fuck left a lot to be desired." She's rambling now, and giving more information then I want. "We got together last fall just after I got to the Capitol. He's wanted to keep it a secret since."  
  
We're quiet for a long time. "So you were a virgin when you finally made the big step this year?"  
  
"Not exactly virgin." I smile mischievously. I can't help myself but I want her to know that Peeta and I had sex before the Quell, but she doesn't let me finish.  
  
"If not Gale, then who? Finnick? God was it Finnick?" I shake my head quickly. "Haymitch?" she cries in shock. "That dirty old drunk?"   
  
"No, god, Jo, stop! It was Peeta — only ever been Peeta. Before the Quell."   
  
Jo's eyes are narrowed as she scrutinizes me. "Hmmm. Was Peeta also a virgin?" I nod, feeling shy. "Is he good at it? Fucking I mean." I blush and nod. No words will come to me. "Well good for you then. I never had much choice with my first, and less with those that followed. I'm happy for you though. Of all the victors, you two stand the best shot at ever having a normal life together. Never lose sight of that fact!"  
  
We stand for a few minutes in silence. "Gale is going to want to talk to you." I'm not quite certain I'm ready. "I hope that you will be … able to … hell, I don't know. Anyway. I'll be back tonight. Gale might be over sooner, okay?" With that she bounds off the steps and I head back inside.  
  
Peeta looks up. "Everything okay?"  
  
I step beside him and place an arm around his shoulders. "Yes. Jo wanted to know what was going on with us, if I was happy." Peeta regards me curiously, and I hope he can see the happiness. "It took a long time to be okay with happy, Peeta, but I'm getting there. I still don't think I deserve you though."  
  
He shakes his head, "I just hope I deserve you, Katniss." I lean forward and kiss him, my Peeta. Only my Peeta. "She also asked me a lot of questions about Gale," Peeta tilts his head slightly. "She and he are in some sort of relationship. I told her I wanted her to be happy too." Peeta smiles, and my stomach flips. A year ago, he was an angry bundle of hate who wanted to throttle the life from me. Today, he is warm and caring, loving and gentle. In that moment, I want him. I grin and pull back slightly.  
  
"I should … shower," I say, looking directly at him. "I'm so … dirty …" his eyebrows shoot up. It's not often that I indulge in talking this way.   
  
"Yes, dirty. You need to shower," his words are choked. I lean in and kiss him again, more forcefully this time, and he grins, exhaling a breath. "I should shower too."  
  
"Are you … dirty too, Peeta?" He grins. Showers together are common, as are baths. But there's no time for a bath today. With that, I'm off and running up the stairs, with Peeta at my heels. Once inside the "playroom," he pushes me toward the bed, as his mouth finds mine. Before we reach it, I stop him. "Shower," I pant.  He nods knowingly.   
  
We shed our clothes on the way to the shower. There is no shyness as we approach the large cubicle. "So dirty," Peeta teases, as his tongue moves between my breasts. He grasps a nipple between his teeth, and I buck my hips toward him. In the few months we've been exploring our sexual side, Peeta and I have become accomplished lovers in my estimation.   
  
I reach behind me and start the shower and all three nozzles began spraying warm water. Peeta gently pushes me backward under the spray. It bounces off our faces, chests, backs, hitting us from all directions. Peeta grins at me just before he trails his fingers down my stomach. His head dips to watch the descent.   
  
"Beautiful," he murmurs quietly. I love the worshipful tone and it sends shivers through me.  
  
He slowly slips his index finger in, dividing my folds and discovers the wetness that awaits him there. His breath hitches slightly which makes me smile. "Ohhhh Katniss, you feel so good. You're so wet." His finger probes deeper and massages the entrance while his thumb stalls at my clit and then circles like a predator. With his hands alone, I'm quickly coming undone. I lean heavily into the wall of the shower and let him pleasure me.   
  
His other hand kneads my breast, pinching and teasing the nipple to hardness. Peeta bends his head and captures my other nipple between his teeth, flexing his tongue across the surface. It's too much and I moan loudly as I come into his hand. My thighs flex, and my walls shudder. My head lolls backward and I breathe heavily.  
  
"Fuck, Peeta! That was … incredible." I pant. It's several seconds before I can open my eyes and then I'm met with the twinkling blue that have darkened noticeably from just a short time ago in the kitchen. He's grinning like there's no tomorrow.  
  
"Good?" he questions slyly.  
  
"Damn near perfect," I sigh.  
  
"Near perfect?" his tone is a bit incredulous. "Well, Ms. Everdeen, I shall try harder next time to bring perfection to the process."   
  
My legs are still weak, and I truly wonder if I could stand a higher elevation in his performance but I answer, "Good. I will look forward to it." A smile plays at the corner of my lips.  
  
Peeta's cock is now standing at full attention. A few days ago, I joked to him that his cock would have made a good soldier. Since then, we call it the little soldier. "Let me take care of the little soldier," I giggle as it jerks and twitches. I grasp it firmly and Peeta moans in appreciation. I lower my mouth to it and swirl my tongue, and Peeta agains moans and a bucks his hips slightly. Without further adieu, I lower my head further and take as much as possible into my mouth and use my hand to complete the movement.   
  
A minute or so later, I can already taste the salty pre-come on my tongue. His cock is so hard, I can feel his thrumming pulse beneath my fingers. Every so often, I twist my hand, and hear Peeta's groans intensify.   
  
"Kat … Kat … Kat," he pants and I smile around his cock, knowing that he's no longer even able to complete my entire name. I pull off him, and run my hands up chest, pinching his nipples along the way, which causes him to nearly double over. I catch his face between my hands and kiss him hungrily. I break away and look again into his eyes which are nearly black with lust.   
  
"Turn around," he says forcefully, and I comply immediately. Peeta runs his hands down my back, squeezing my ass. He moves close and I can feel his cock pressing against my ass, "How dirty are you?" he whispers, sending goosebumps down my spine. He reaches his hand around and touches me lightly, causing me to moan in response.  
  
"I'm filthy. Filthy dirty Peeta."   
  
He licks my earlobe and moves slightly lower to lightly suck the flesh right below it. I shudder. "I'm not sure what to do with you, Katniss. What do you want?" He's licks my neck, and I turn my head to kiss him, our tongues instantly clashing, before I pull back slightly.  
  
"Fuck me, Peeta. Now." I feel the rumble of a laugh in his chest as he extends my arms upward, and pulls my hips toward him. He rubs his length up and down across my entire slit, pausing at my entrance.  
  
"Ready," he questions. At my nod, he pushes in with one fluid motion, fully sheathing himself.   
  
"Ohhhhmmmmmm," I respond, my eyes closing involuntarily.   
  
Peeta finds a rhythm, and I remain still trying to keep my balance, as Peeta whispers in my ear. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, Katniss. I'm going to make you scream my name. Scream my name. I fucking love you. I love how tight and wet you are. I love the feeling of you around my cock. Only you, Katniss. Do you hear me?"  
  
I nod unable to put together a coherent response.   
  
"Say my name, Katniss."  
  
"Peeta," I whisper.   
  
"Tell me what you want."  
  
He loves to hear me talk to him, but it usually takes his prompts to make it happen. "Fuck me, Peeta."  
  
"Is that all?" His strokes are more urgent know.  
  
"Harder, Peeta. Fuck me harder." My mouth has dropped open. He slips his hand around my braid, pulling out the band. He runs his fingers through my hair, loosening it.   
  
"Harder?"  
  
"Yesss! Ohhhhhh." He speeds his tempo and strengthens his thrusts.  
  
"What else, Katniss?  
  
"Touch me," I groan. "My clit," I add knowing that would be the next questions. Without waiting, he drops his hand and expertly uses his middle finger to circle at a quick pace. He's close. I can feel the tension mounting. My insides begin to clench and I can feel the heat beginning to pool. All at once, Peeta shoves hard one last time, and spills inside me with a grunt sending me over the edge once more. "Peeta," I scream out as we spiral together.  
  
He slumps on my back, and I wonder if I will be able to keep us both upright.  
  
"I love you, Katniss," Peeta pants. "Only you."  
  
"I love you too," I respond equally breathless. "Only you."  
  
His arms envelope me in a hug as he pulls me upright. I turn and put my arms around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him passionately. We wash each other off, taking our time. Peeta shampoos my hair, scrubbing my scalp and kissing my neck and shoulders gently. I return the favor.  
  
Eventually, we have to get out. Peeta reaches for our towels, and helps to dry my hair. We step out. No words have been spoken since our "I love you's." There's no need.  
  
We dress quickly, knowing that we only have a short time before everyone will return. Oddly, Peeta and I select similar outfits of khaki pant and white button-up shirts. When we see each other, we laugh but decide not to change. Maybe all those months of Cinna and Portia coordinating our outfits has worn off on us.  
  
Back in the kitchen, we resume supper preparations. I quickly finish washing the pheasants and began cubing the meat. Peeta enjoys experimenting with our meals, and tonight is no exception. He plans to mix the fresh vegetables and meat together and add a sweet/sour sauce to it. He's made traditional District 12 bread to accompany it.   
  
I'm in the middle of cutting the asparagus, and Peeta is peeling the potatoes when we hear a light clearing of the throat which surprises us. Even Haymitch knocks regularly now. Startled, we turn in unison and see Gale standing by our table. He's taking in the sight of Peeta and me standing shoulder to shoulder working on supper.   
  
No one speaks for a full thirty seconds. My mind is a whirl of thoughts and emotions. There's a little anger, hurt, betrayal. A fair amount of anxiety, and even a little relief. Absent, however, is the comfort his presence used to bring.  
  
"Sorry, Catnip. I thought you were alone." His statement brings a bit more anger. Why would he think that? Certainly his mother or brothers told him that Peeta and I were together. If not them, then surely Johanna spilled the beans after our conversation.  
  
"Really?" I question, not even attempting to keep the edge out of my voice.  
  
He shuffles his feet anxiously. "I … ummm … I heard you two were together, I just didn't … I mean … how are you Peeta?"  
  
"Good. Yourself?" Peeta sounds more relaxed and accommodating than either Gale or myself.   
  
"Good. Ummm, Catnip? Could I speak to you privately?" His eyes don't meet mine, and I can't bring myself to move from Peeta's side.   
  
We stare at one another for several seconds before Peeta speaks, "Go ahead. I'll keep working. We're almost done with this part anyway." I look quickly at him and he gives me a reassuring nod. Peeta has always been more accepting of my relationship with Gale, than Gale was of my relationship with Peeta.   
  
Even so, I'm not sure I want to talk to Gale. His angry outbursts to reporters this spring and summer have made me wonder what is real and not real about the story of Prim. I remember when I first mentioned my fears to Peeta. He was quiet for a long time, always looking for the inherent good in people. Deep down I have wondered if the plan was to do with that bomb exactly what was done, minus the killing Prim part. It was all logistics.  
  
I reach over and squeeze Peeta's hand and he smiles slightly before turning back to work. "Be back in a few minutes." He nods. I turn to Gale who looks uncomfortable, and lead him to the back porch. We stand at the railing, much like Jo and I did.  
  
"So, you and Peeta are together?" After nearly a year, I'm surprised that his first private statement to me is this. Especially since he admitted inside that he is aware. I debate what to answer him, but the moment passes. "Stupid question. Obviously, you two are together. I guess I meant to ask if you two are … you know."  
  
First Johanna, now Gale. "You know?" I prompt, deciding that I'm not going to make this any easier on Gale. I expected him to bring up Prim, not examine my private life with Peeta.   
  
"Ummm. Are you two sleeping together?" Gale stares into the distance.  
  
I turn toward him and wait for him to look in my direction. There's no reason to lie to him. "Peeta and I are together. He lives here and has since about a month after he returned to 12." Gale's eyes drop. "We do sleep together, but that's such a ridiculous euphemism for having sex. But if that's what you want to know, yes we are 'sleeping together.'"  
  
Gale looks uncomfortable. "I knew I should have come back here when I heard you were here."  
  
That statement confounds me. "Why?"  
  
"Well, I could have been here and then you would have had a clear choice." He looks me straight in the eye.   
  
I exhale and try to find the words. "Gale, before Peeta arrived, I sat in front of fire, barely moving or acknowledging anyone around me." I move to the far railing and Gale follows. "The first morning he was back, I awakened to the sound of digging, and came out here, and he was planting those." I point to the primroses. "That day, everything changed. For the first time in weeks, I took a shower. Showed interest."  
  
I'm breathing rapidly as I remember that morning that seems like another lifetime ago. "Sae was coming over daily to make my meals, and I asked about you." Gale closes his eyes. "She told me that you went to District 2 for a job. I went hunting that day, sat on our old rock, and examined my feelings for you. I wasn't heartbroken. My heart didn't long for you. I only felt relief."  
  
I can see tears clouding his eyes. "At the time, I thought that Peeta was lost to me forever, but I was also starting to realize that I was in love with him and had been for sometime." Gale flinches. "Gale, I was young and naive. I did love you, but as a friend."  
  
"Past tense?"  
  
"You will always be my friend, Gale. But you have your life to live."  
  
"When did you fall in love with him?"  
  
For the first time, I smile. Loving Peeta is as natural and necessary as breathing. "You know when he threw me the bread when we were eleven?"  
  
"What? You can't be serious." Gale is angry now.  
  
"No, I wasn't in love, but he certainly established a presence in my mind. One time, I asked Finnick about when he knew he loved Annie, and he told me that she just snuck up on him. That's how it was with Peeta. Before the first arena even, during training, I was learning to regard him as a friend. Inside the arena, I convinced myself that everything was for the camera. It was my way of not dealing with the feelings. But looking back, I was pretty much already in love when I returned home."  
  
Gale slumps his shoulders. "So I never stood a chance?"   
  
"Gale, looking back I think you really only wanted me when someone else took notice of me."  
  
"That's not true, Catnip. I loved you before you left. I loved you before Peeta told the whole world."  
  
"I wasn't talking about Peeta, Gale. I was talking about Darius. If you would have been interested in me, it would not have taken Darius's teasing to get you interested. I think that you wanted first shot at me because we were friends, not because we had deep feelings for each other."  
  
"If you hadn't gone to the games, you and I would have been together."  
  
I shake my head at him. "No Gale, without the games, I would likely be living my life alone."  
  
I move back to the edge of the railing facing the woods. "Gale, I will always be grateful for your friendship."  
  
"Grateful," he spits angrily.   
  
I ignore him and continue. "You helped me to survive those days. Gave me companionship when I needed. Do you remember a conversation with Peeta in Tigris's cellar?" Gale thinks for a moment and then his eyes widen. "I know you both thought I was asleep. I think you knew it then, Gale. Peeta was my choice but you said I would choose whoever I needed to survive. I was angry and in that moment, wanted neither of you because it made me feel like I was cold and calculating."  
  
He's looking at me earnestly now. "Gale, I presumed that by survival you meant I would choose whoever could provide for me better — a baker or a hunter. This past year, I learned that survival is so much more than the physical. I need Peeta, Gale. I need him like my mother needed my father. Emotionally, mentally and yes, even physically, but not to provide food. Peeta makes me feel whole, Gale."  
  
The air is thick between us. "Peeta is my dandelion in the spring. My hope for the future. I know with him by my side, I can weather the storms of life. Believe me, there are storms. He's patient, kind, gentle, loving. His smile makes my heart flutter. His hands bring me comfort. Gale, he is like the piece that completes me."  
  
I look toward him and Gale looks unconvinced. "Come with me," I say as I walk into the house. Peeta turns to look at us. His look is tough to discern. "Peeta, Gale should see the murals you painted." He nods, a slight smile on his face. "Would you like to show him since it's your work?"   
  
"No, you go ahead. I'm almost done here and need to start on the dessert soon." I knew Peeta wouldn't show him, but I also knew that he would understand the significance of showing it to Gale.  I lead Gale up the back stairway, we pass by Peeta's studio, which I point out to him. The pictures on the wall are clearly Peeta's. I'm hoping that he see how our world's have blended into one. Peeta bakes. I hunt. We do everything else together. Our home.  
  
We cross the long hallway. Finally reaching the large double doors at the very end. The master bedroom takes up one-third of the entire upstairs. I push open the doors, and step aside. Gale gasps as he realizes our destination. He takes in the large bed and notices the clothes strewn carelessly around after our most recent shower adventure. I had forgotten, but in some ways it's for the best because it shows Gale clearly that Peeta belongs here.  
  
Finally, I direct his attention to the broad wall opposite the French doors. It's the mural, the dandelion-covered meadow with the blue sky that matches Peeta's eyes perfectly. In the center, sit Peeta and I, wrapped in each others arms.  
  
"He painted these for my birthday," I say as I gesture around the room at the various scenes. "But he's added to them through the summer. Gale, one day last spring I was having trouble leaving bed. I felt that I had no business being happy. Not now. Not after … everything. It had happened before and Peeta had told me when it happened the first time, he would give me one day in bed, but that was it. Well, he was true to his word. The next day dawned and he picked me up and carried me to the shower. I was angry with him, but he told me he would rather me be angry then despondent. After the shower, he brought me down for breakfast, and then took me outside to sit. We talked and then he came up here and added the two of us to this mural. He wanted to remind me that hope exists."  
  
Gale grunts at my explanation then adds, "So you two are fucking then?"  
  
I can't help the exasperation that wells up inside me. Finally, I say, "That too is part of our survival, Gale. The reminder that for a time, we are so focussed on each other that nothing and no one else can penetrate that experience."  
  
"No one has ever come back from a tracker jacker torture, Katniss. He could kill you when he's fucking you." His eyes are intense.  
  
"Gale, even when he was first hijacked, he never killed me."  
  
He shakes his head. "He would have. I saw the bruises. He killed Mitchell and …"  
  
"Stop! Gale, Peeta won't kill me. Not now. Not ever. I'm not going to live in fear of something that will never happen."  
  
Gale shakes his head, "Catnip …"  
  
But I'm tired of the debate, I hold up my hand. "No more 'Catnip,' Gale. Katniss. " He looks defeated.  
  
"It's because of Prim, right?"  
  
"My relationship with Peeta is partly because of Prim, but not the part you think. Prim knew I was in love with Peeta. She went to Peeta daily in 13 and would talk to him. She was the only one brave enough to breech the topic of me with Peeta. She also suggested the treatment that went a long way to helping him. It wasn't because of her death that we found our way back together but because of her life."  
  
We are silent as he studies the mural. "Gale, you are with Johanna. Please be happy with her or find someone that you will be happy with. Don't make our friendship into something more than it was. I'm sorry that I kissed you Gale. It was never the same as kissing Peeta, and I was foolish to encourage it. I'm sorry."  
  
Gale huffs out impatiently. "I should have run with you when I had the chance."  
  
At this statement, I begin to laugh. I really can't help myself. "Gale, you know that Peeta was coming along too. It was only a matter of time and really nothing you could have said or done would have changed this outcome. But you need to let go of this idea that we were meant to be together." I wait for any argument that might follow before, "I need to get back down to help him."  
   
I turn as if to leave when I felt Gale's hand on my shoulder. His expression was changed by the second, anger, remorse, hope, sadness. "Cat … Katniss … maybe someday… ." I shake my head at him.  
  
"No Gale. This is it for me. My choice. My only choice, is Peeta." His face falls in resignation, and then his eyes dart around the room once more. I know they take in the photos of Peeta and me, his dresser with personal items on top, a pair of his shoes peeking out from beneath the bed. I know he sees my bra hastily discarded on the rug, Peeta's boxers nearby, the open door that leads to our shared bathroom. Our room.   
  
“Also,” I add almost as an afterthought but he needs to understand our commitment to one another, “Peeta and I had a toasting earlier this summer. Just the two of us, but it’s enough.”  
  
“Toastings aren’t legal, Katniss. They are just tradition.”   
  
His words are cold, distant. “Once upon a time, Gale, that tradition took precedence over everything. To us, it still does. Someday, we will probably formalize it with the paper from the Capitol, but I am his wife, and he is my husband.” I heave in a breath to steady myself.  
  
I move to the hallway and Gale follows as I lead him down the front stairs to the main door. "Gale, come back for supper at six if you like." He leaves without acknowledging my invitation.   
  
As I enter the kitchen, Peeta looks up. "Everything okay?"  
  
I nod. "Yes."  
  
"Did he apologize?"  
  
I shake my head no. "Only brought up Prim in regard to whether or not it had any bearings on why you and I are together."  
  
Peeta nods and goes back to the crust he's working on. I smile to myself at how different he is today as opposed to a year ago. His anger and jealousy had driven him to violent outbursts. I move behind him and hug him. "Thank you."  
  
"For what?" He looks over at his shoulder at me curiously.  
  
"For being you. For coming back to me. For … everything."  
  
The look on his face makes my breath catch. "No … thank you, for being you. For allowing me to come back to you." I shake my head at him, and capture his lips with mine.   
  
"I love you, Peeta."  
  
"I love you too." We kiss a little longer, and soon my fingers are woven tight in his curls. He breaks away from me panting slightly. "If we don't stop …" I nod and take my place beside him to watch him put the finishing touches on the dessert. His hands move quickly with assurance. He slides the dish into the oven.   
  
"What's left?"   
  
"Well, let's see, I was thinking that some salad might be nice to start the meal."   
  
"I'll gather the vegetables." His smile is crooked and reassuring. Entertaining is not my forte.   
  
Our garden is one of my favorite places. It represents our combined accomplishment. A symbol of our commitment to work together. I move through the garden selecting the best, most visually appealing vegetables. I replay the conversation with Gale and my anger rises. Nearly a year of silence, and he has the audacity to come back here and question my relationship with Peeta? How dare he?  
  
After, I gather lettuce, carrots, another pepper, tomatoes, peas and a fresh onion  I head back inside. Peeta is cubing bread and sprinkling the oil and spice mix on top, before placing it in the oven. He has perfected and improved on most every dish or food item that we sampled in the capitol. We work together in silence. I'm slicing and chopping the vegetables with more enthusiasm than is warranted, and can feel Peeta's eyes on me from time to time.   
  
He pulls down the plates and heads to the dining room. I can hear him setting the table. Suddenly, I feel his hands on my shoulders, kneading and massaging. My head drops to my chest as Peeta works my neck and shoulders.  
  
"Talk to me."  
  
I don't want to mar our afternoon together, but I realize how quickly my mood changed. "Peeta, I haven't heard from him in almost a year. Nothing since the morning I shot Coin. No letters. No phone calls. Nothing." Peeta continues to work on my shoulders. "He's been on television for months, denying the allegations that he was partly responsible for the bomb that killed Prim. Yet he comes here and all he wants to talk about is whether or not you and I are together."  
  
Peeta's hands still, and I reach up to stroke one that rests on my shoulder.   
  
"I think …" Peeta begins cautiously, "that if I were in Gale's shoes, I would want an explanation of sorts too." He kisses me lightly. This is so Peeta. "My guess is that Gale will likely never speak directly to you about Prim's death. I think there's an element of embarrassment there. I also think that to acknowledge it to you, is to finally take responsibility for it in his own mind. I think that's more than he can handle."  
  
I nod and turn to Peeta, hugging him close.  "How did you get so smart?"  
  
He kisses me lightly. "My intelligence defies mortal explanation."   
  
In spite of myself, I laugh. "Let me rephrase: how did you get so full of yourself?”  
  
He barks out a laugh. "Ahhh. Now that is a question I can answer. My ego has been greatly inflated by the fact that I've won the heart of the most beautiful young woman in the entire country." He kisses me again as I try to maintain a scowl. "Katniss, let's put this behind us. We have more pressing things right now then whether Gale accepts that you and me are together. Okay?"  
  
I'm about to respond when I hear Haymitch at the door with our first guests.  
  



End file.
